The Twisted Tree
by Elaine Maxine
Summary: 24 year old orphan Constance Collins from London, UK discovers she has a connection to the mysterious Collins family of Collinsport, Maine, USA.
1. Chapter 1

THE TWISTED TREE

By

ELAINE MAXINE

CHAPTER ONE

Spring was finally making its appearance even in the shabbier parts of London. Buds swelling on the branches of trees, full of new life and promise. The thin blades of grass pushing their way through the cracks in the sidewalk, were certainly greener than the previous day. Every where birdsong was carried on the warming breeze – my favorite sound in the dark hour before the dawn.

I didn't know what to do with myself.

It would be many months before I made the journey to Egypt to join the archaeological site. I kept pinching myself at the fantastic opportunity that had presented itself to me over the winter. A fellow armchair Egyptologist had suggested my services as camp cook and sand sifter to a small, private dig in Alexandria. I was itching to go. I had lived in London my entire life. I wearied of it.

The streetlights were coming on, while I struggled to balance the bag of groceries and unlock my flat at the same time. The door finally banged open, and I stumbled into my miniscule foyer. The building was old. I'm not sure what it was originally, but at some point, it had been partitioned into four units, each with its own door, the aforementioned foyer, a small living room and kitchenette to the left, stairs directly in front leading up to one small bedroom with a connected bath. Did I mention that it is small? Fortunately, I am a small person.

I have lived here less than a year. Though the outside of the building was dull looking with trim badly in need of paint, the inside was beautifully done up. Parquet floors. Large windows that let in a ton of light. I was not allowed to paint the walls, but they were clean and white, the perfect backdrop to support any color I chose. The foundling home where I grew up was institutional brown, and that particular shade was liberally used on the walls, the carpet, the bedding…had no one there ever thought of the therapeutic calm of blue or green? Sunshine yellow? The answer was a dismal no.

Since I have mentioned the foundling home, I must share that I am an orphan in the truest sense. I have no father or mother. I have no familial connections. My name is Constance Collins, but I don't even know if that is my "real" name for not long after I was "found", there was an isolated fire in the home and three hundred years of records were burned to a crisp. As the French say, C'est la vie! I am now 24 years old and finally out on my own. I could have left when I turned 18, but I followed in the footsteps of my favorite fictional heroine, Jane Eyre, and stayed to help with the other foundlings. I saved practically every pound for my launch into independence. Working at the tea shop around the corner from the home also helped feather my bank account.

As I put away the few items I had purchased, I thought about Miss Jacky who owned the tea shop. She was naturally unhappy when I had given my notice. I have been working for her since I was 16. I could practically run the business thanks to her willingness to teach me everything that was necessary: purchasing inventory, handling all the aspects of accounting, and taking deposits to the bank. I even hired and fired employees when Miss Jacky was away. Not bad for a girl who started out waiting on tables, and doing a lot of the washing up. My desire to be out of the home was so strong that I worked practically every evening and weekend, as long as it didn't interfere with my school work. The hours did not leave much room for a social life. Hopefully, whoever becomes my replacement at the shop will be a good fit. I stepped into the living room and looked at the cozy space. Miss Jacky had given me most of my furnishings when I found this flat. The tobacco brown sofa, the antique chair covered in thick, teal fabric, and the 1950's style bedroom set in blonde wood. I had so much fun scouring the shops for linens, crockery and the like. Growing up in the home, I had to share a room with four other girls. Storage was limited. Even as an adult, I still never had my own space. The few things I could call my own were a few books I had picked up over the years, and not much in the way of clothing. Everything else had to be shared with everyone else. It is pure luxury to have rooms that are entirely your own. To have peace and quiet. To be alone. I really don't mind.

I have always kept to myself. I don't think of myself as shy or reserved. I generally get along well with others. Perhaps it is being an orphan. When I was old enough to truly understand my situation, I took it to heart that I was always going to be alone. I was sad, but at the same time I realized that there was not anything I could do about it. There were no records. No clues to be followed, or answers to be discovered. Mr. Breck who ran the home used to say I was an old soul. Perhaps I am. Perhaps that is why I am so fascinated with the past. Why I fell in love with Egypt. It happened on my very first visit to the British Museum.

I must have been about seven years old. It was my first momentous outing, and I was terribly excited. My expectations were high that something wonderful was about to happen to me. I cannot explain why I felt the way I did. I do know that I did not like the large, surging crowd of people, the babble of so many voices. By the time our group had reached the Egyptian wing, I was ready to do a runner. Then I saw them; the beautiful, haunting faces of those long dead, carved in wood, gold, and stone. Why it touched me so, I still cannot explain. I left enthralled with what I had seen. I could not stop thinking about them. I went to the library and read every book I could find. The librarian was my friend. She allowed me to check out way beyond the limit. She also allowed me to read those books that were really meant for older, more educated minds. I was obsessed with this newfound knowledge. My passion showed up in my artwork, my compositions, my daydreams. The other children teased me, but I didn't let it bother me. Children are like that.

I made up my mind to be an archeologist when I grew up. I daydreamed about discovering fabulous, treasure filled tombs, buried beneath centuries of golden sand. I would travel all over the world, and I would write books about all of my adventures. Unfortunately, I am one of those people who are more of a dreamer, and not a doer. My passion was not strong enough for me to actually do something about what I wanted. I didn't feel capable, or wise enough to take the necessary steps, like furthering my education. I hated school. I enjoyed learning, but not the institution. Besides, money always played a big role in all of my decisions small and large. I had only myself to depend on. No one was there to encourage or guide. Mr. Breck and Miss Jacky did what they could for me, but they, as well as I, understood the limitations of their help. I grew older. I worked, and saved my money. I had crushes, and dates like any other girl. Nothing serious or long lasting. There just wasn't room, or time, for men in my life at this juncture. Then something happened.

It was an ordinary day. I had opened the tea shop, and after making sure that the rest of the staff were busy with their specific tasks, I settled into checking all the inventory. Miss Jacky was on holiday in a much warmer clime, for it was winter in jolly, old England, and I had been left in charge for two weeks. I felt proud at the level of trust I had earned over the years, and gladly made sure that all ran as smoothly as possible while she was away. I had just finished purchasing supplies, and took over for the cashier so she could take her lunch. A plump, older woman entered and sat at the counter. She may have been in her 70's, with curled, orangish reddish hair, large pearls tight around her throat, and her coat appeared to be a full- length fur of some sort. I helped her with her order, recommended the macaroons for her sweet, and supplied her with hot tea and finger sandwiches; egg salad, and watercress. I busied myself with the usual work associated with running a counter while she daintily consumed her lunch. The afternoon rush had finally begun to subside, so she began to chat with me as I freshened her tea. We discovered in the midst of our conversation our mutual delight in all things Egyptian. We shared favorite pieces of art, books on the subject, exhibits we had seen over the years…it was wonderful to finally talk with someone who understood how I felt about this ancient civilization. Mrs. Edwards, for that was her name, then told me about a friend of hers who was actually going to Egypt the following winter to dig somewhere in Alexandria.

"I cannot go. How I would love to go! My health is not the best. Perhaps I will muster up the strength to go should Albert find something. He is much younger and in much better health than I."

I spoke my awe about how wonderful to even know someone going and doing only what I had daydreamed and read about for all these years.

"Why, you could go! Yes, yes – why not?"

Me go to Egypt? I became so flustered, I actually broke a cup. As I hurriedly swept up the broken pieces, she eagerly shared about dear Albert's need for a variety of staff. The pay would be small, but just think about being in Egypt! What had become an impossible dream suddenly, miraculously came into my immediate reach. I had only to reach out and take it for myself. We exchanged phone numbers. She promised she would call within the next day or two with more information. As we said our goodbyes, I realized how very late it was. I usually do not spend the day going on like a chatterbox. The staff and I did the usual cleaning and prepping for closing the shop. After they left, I tallied up the accounts, marked the ledgers accordingly, and did my final walkthrough before locking up and heading home. My mind was in a whirl at the possibilities. I could not sleep that night.

Impatiently, I waited the next day and the next for a phone call. I thought about ringing Mrs. Edwards up, but decided not to. Finally, almost a week after we met she called. Many apologizes were given; she had been ill. Albert could not be reached. Dear Albert had finally been reached. He had left for Spain for the rest of the winter, but here was his number…

After talking to Mr. Simmons, (dear Albert Simmons!) I somehow found the courage to accept his job offer. As soon as I hung up, I thought to myself, "What have I done?" Life became a blur. I spoke with Mr. Breck and Miss Jacky about my decision. They gave me letters of reference, and Mr. Breck even did a background check on Mr. Simmons to make sure everything was on the up and up. I had medical exams, updated my passport – which I had, but had never used, talked my landlord into letting me pay month to month until I left, found a storage facility to hold my belongings while I was away, and a million other things. It all felt like a dream. I floated through the days and nights. I continued to work and save, but I also read much about Alexandria, about sifting sand, and I worked on my culinary skills. Naturally, the time went by slowly.

Summer was still a few weeks away, but the weather was unusually warm. I had Saturdays off since I was senior staff. The shop was closed on Sundays, so I had the weekends free to do whatever I liked. Saturdays were usually spent having a lie in, general housekeeping, laundry, grocery shopping, errand running, etc. Sunday was church, with maybe some sort of free entertainment such as an outdoor concert or play when the weather permitted. I took long walks, too. When the weather did not permit, I would head for a museum, library, or bookstore. So, on this particular Saturday, I had just finished cleaning the flat, when I heard the post being slipped through the door. Post does not excite me. Other than bills, rarely did anything fun come through that portal. No cards. No letters. I picked it up and rifled through the envelopes. I caught my breath. There was an envelope from America. It was a professional looking envelope like one would see from a solicitor. It was a solicitor: Garner and Garner of Collinsport, Maine. Neither name meant anything to me. Mystified, I opened it and read the following:

Dear Ms. Collins,

We are writing to inform you that your presence is requested to appear in our offices, on June the 7th, for a 3:00pm appointment concerning your inheritance. A plane ticket has been enclosed for your use. A car will be waiting for you at the Bangor International Airport to bring you to Collinsport. A room has been reserved for you at the Collinsport Inn. All expenses have been paid by this firm. Failure to show for this appointment will cause your inheritance to become null and void. We look forward to meeting you, and serving you in this capacity…

I lost count of the times I read the letter. June the 7th was exactly two days away. The flight was scheduled for the 6th. Tomorrow. My heart began to pound. I quickly called Miss Jacky and told her what happened. She promised to come over at once. When she arrived, I handed her the letter, and blathered about how it was all a joke, a mistake…right?

"Constance, I don't think this is a joke. You could ring them. Here, I will ring them."

It was not a joke. It was not a mistake.

Miss Jacky loaned me a suitcase. She helped me purchase a respectable outfit for wearing to a solicitor; a peach skirt, a white jumper, low heeled dress shoes. A trench coat. A new purse. She helped me pack, and promised to pick me up early in the morning to take me to Heathrow. I went to bed, but I stared wide awake at the ceiling. I had never flown before. I hated heights. What if I hated flying? What about jet lag? What if the car wasn't there? What if it really was a joke? I jumped out of bed and checked my purse again for my passport, the ticket, my money, the letter from Garner and Garner; it was all still there. I did not go back to bed. I got dressed. I checked the suitcase again, and repacked items. I wrote up a note for my landlord. I paid some bills. My heart lurched when I realized I would be leaving Miss Jacky high and dry. Who would cover for me? As the sun slowly crept up in the sky, I fixed myself a cup of tea. I had no appetite. I made myself eat some toast. I didn't want to be passing out on an airplane full of strangers. Miss Jacky arrived at the appointed time. She fussed over me, and hustled me into the car. We were on our way. Heathrow was loud and noisy. Miss Jacky had to leave me. She made sure I was in the right line, gave me a long hug and a peck on the cheek.

"You'll be fine, Constance. You'll be fine"

Tears started to pour from my eyes as I watched her becoming smaller the further I walked up the line. I got myself under control, and managed to ask for help along the way. Everyone seemed extraordinarily kind to me that day. I handed off my suitcase after I went through security. I found the waiting area, and before I knew it, I was on a plane heading for America.

(This writing has nothing to do with Dan Curtis or Dan Curtis Productions. This is just the vivid imagination of a small town girl.)


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

The flight from England to America is a long one. Fortunately, mine was a direct flight. I silently thanked Garner and Garner that my seat was in first class, and that it was not too crowded. The attention given me by the flight attendants did cause me some embarrassment. I am positive that they were whispering about me; trying to figure out if I was someone famous or important. I quietly, and politely, declined their offers of tea, of reading material, a headset for the in- flight movie…I did enjoy the breathtaking view of being high above the clouds. It reminded me of miles and miles of snow covered lands, bright with the brilliance of the sun; the blueness of the sky. I did not realize that I had fallen sound asleep until the plane landed. Immediately, my mind went into overload. I murmured my thanks as I left the plane. With the help of another kind individual, I retrieved my suitcase and went in search of the car and driver.

According to my research, Collinsport was located about 50 miles southeast of Bangor. I climbed into the back of the black, sleek sedan. I am not used to being chauffeured, but again was grateful for this thoughtful service. As we hurtled through the darkness, I felt myself getting drowsy. I awoke to the sound of the driver opening the boot to retrieve my suitcase. He carried it into the inn, assured me that a tip was not necessary, and promised to return at 2:30pm. The gracious, charming innkeeper, Mrs. Fillmore, led me upstairs to a comfortable room, and promised to have tea, a cheese sandwich, and beef broth sent to my room immediately even though the kitchen was closed for the night. I was utterly famished. I rang Miss Jacky to tell her of my safe arrival. The clock read 3:33am when I at last tumbled into bed, and once again fell asleep. If I dreamed, I do not remember. I woke to blazing sunlight pouring through the plain, muslin curtains at the window. At the same time, there was a gentle tap at the door. My wake-up call. I pulled my robe closed, and opened the door to admit a tall, lanky teenager who told me that his name was Dusty, and that he had brought fresh tea, toast, eggs and juice for my breakfast. I thanked him, and offered a tip, but he just grinned, and said it was unnecessary.

"Nan would skin me alive if I took money from a guest! I been coming to help every year since I was 10. I'm 16 now. Saving up money for a car. Lots of people come and stay at the inn during the summer."

"Oh! Is that Mrs. Fillmore's name? Nan?"

"Oh, no!", he laughed. "She's my Nan. My Nana. You know, my grandmother. I like your accent. You're from England?"

"Yes. London."

"Cool! Well, welcome to America! I better get going. I have six other rooms to check after. See you later!"

I smiled to myself as I closed the door. Welcome to America.

A few hours later as I sat in the small, but tastefully furnished lobby of Garner and Garner, I wished that cheerful Dusty sat behind the receptionist desk, and not the cool, redhead who professionally ignored me after offering me a seat, and a cup of coffee. The coffee was excellent. While I sipped, I silently thanked Miss Jacky again for picking out my outfit. I did not look like a ragamuffin, even if I felt like one. I had even taken more care with my hair than I usually did. It was held back with a leopard print headband, not my usual ponytail. I was wishing for a chocolate biscuit when I realized the receptionist was standing in front of me.

"Mr. Garner will see you now. Follow me, please."

Her voice was as cool as her demeanor. I managed to set the cup and saucer on the table. My insides were so knotted and twisted, I was not sure if I could actually walk down the hallway after her. Then she knocked on a door marked, "Randall Garner," and ushering me in, quietly closed the door behind her. I could hear her high heels tapping away into silence.

"Ms. Collins!"

"Please. Miss Collins."

"Miss Collins. Randall Garner. Please, please, have a seat."

The man who pointed out a chair for me to use, looked to be in his early 50's. His office, though small, was just as tastefully furnished as the lobby.

"Coffee?"

"No, no thank you. Your receptionist kindly gave me some while I waited."

"Good, good. I am sorry that my associate, Elliott Spencer, is unable to join us today. He had to go to the main office in Bangor for a deposition. Did you have a good flight? How are they treating you at the inn? Anything you are lacking, or have need of?"

"No, no. Everyone has been most helpful and accommodating. I slept most of the flight. Thank you for making all the arrangements…"

"Our pleasure I assure you," he interrupted. "I am sorry that you were horribly rushed under the circumstances. We didn't even know of your existence until recently. I do apologize at the strangeness and abruptness of it all."

"Yes. I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that I am here in America concerning an inheritance. I assume you do know that I am an orphan, Mr. Garner. Does, does the inheritance have to do with my parents? Do you know who my parents are, Mr. Garner?"

Randall Garner hesitated. "Perhaps I should start at the beginning," he said. "Do you know anything about the history of Collinsport?"

"No, I'm afraid I do not," I replied.

"Quick lesson then. Collinsport was founded by Isaac Collins in 1690. There has always been a Collins in residence since that time until seven years ago. Seven years ago, the current Collins family held a family reunion. Not that many Collins ever left Collinsport, but there were a handful scattered here and there. None, as far as we knew in England. The last of that branch came to America in the late 1960's and left for parts unknown in the early '70s. I assure you when you walked through my door, I could instantly tell that you were a Collins." He cleared his throat. "As far as we can gather, the reunion was to last a week. Miss Collins, sometime during that week, everyone simply disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"Yes, disappeared. Extra staff had been hired to help with so many guests. The extra help did not stay at Collinwood, that is the name of the current estate, but when they arrived one morning they found the front doors opened and not a single man, woman or child in the entire house. Naturally, the grounds are quite large and it was possible that the entire party was simply out and about, so no alarm was given. When it was discovered that the Collins pleasure yacht, The Secret, was not at it's dock, still there was no alarm. Many of the Collins are fine boatmen. The yacht is a large craft, and could easily carry all of the Collins clan. But…it never returned. The Coast Guard searched and searched. The entire acreage of Collinwood, and the village of Collinsport was searched. Not a single clue was found to tell anyone what had happened. We are not even sure how many people were actually at Collinwood."

"I still don't understand why I am here," I replied.

"The law states that seven years must commence before a person can be declared legally dead. Tomorrow is the final day, Miss Collins. Then everything that had once belonged to the Collins family, the land, the houses, the cannery, the jewels, every last box, bottle, and book is up for grabs, to put it bluntly. We have represented the Collins family for generations. For the last seven years, Garner and Garner has searched and searched for the remotest possibility that somewhere there was someone left to inherit. We had given up hope until last week."

"Last week?!"

He nodded his head, as he stood up from the desk, and came over to sit beside me. He stared intently at me with kind, grey eyes.

"Miss Collins, we have been given information, documentation, stating that you, and you alone are the legitimate heir of Collinwood."

The room became even smaller, and the pattern on the carpet came swiftly to meet me as I pitched forward in my chair. Fortunately, Mr. Garner grabbed ahold of me before I made a complete fool of myself by fainting. He himself went out and brought me a fresh cup of coffee, and a glass of water. I refreshed myself, as he opened a window.

"I am so sorry for…"

"For being completely blindsided by fantastical news? It is fantastical. Truth is stranger than fiction, they say. I would say they are right. I know this is a lot for a young woman to be given. Would you like to go back to the inn, now? We could finish up tomorrow…"

"No, no, I'm feeling much, much better. Thank you. I know if I left now I would be climbing the walls wondering what else you had to share with me."

"Very well. There is not too much left to share. As I just stated, you are the legitimate and only heir of the entire Collins estate. The property is extensive with several houses, all the furnishings, large tracts of land… it has its own harbor, and there is the cannery, of course. Not to mention all the monies, jewels, stocks, investments…Miss Collins you are a very, very wealthy young woman."

I hesitated to ask the obvious. I cleared my throat.

'When you say very, very wealthy, do you mean, like, millions?"

"Billions, Miss Collins. Billions."

This time, I did faint.

An orphan turned heiress does not happen every day. When I came out of my faint, Mr. Garner had luncheon delivered and urged me to eat as he answered my numerous questions.

"How did you find me? How do you know that I am a "true" Collins?"

Mr. Garner was quiet for a moment. "Please excuse my hesitation. Yours is a particular situation. I am searching for the right words to share, but not share all at the same time. My firm has been given documents, historical documents, that show that you come from a line that has never, ever in the Collins long history been considered."

I looked at him questioningly, and he continued with his narrative.

"Apparently, unbeknownst to all, you descend from Abigail Collins."

"Abigail? Why, that's my middle name!"

"Indeed. All records show that Abigail Collins died in 1795; a spinster. No issue. There have been many reports that she may have been affianced at one time. Also, rumors of a possible relationship with a pirate. Yes, a pirate! A pirate who also may have given her a treasure trove of jewels that may have been confiscated by her family." He coughed delicately. "Through our investigators, and the documents presented to us, we were able to trace through the centuries with most certainty that you are indeed a true Collins."

I was inordinately pleased at the possibility of being, at least in part, a Yank. Then something more vital pushed itself to the forefront.

"Then you must know who my parents are! Please, who are they? Are they still alive? Where are they?"

Those grey eyes looked at me with profound pity. His warm hand covered mine.

"Miss Collins, I am so very sorry, but that is one of the stipulations of this inheritance. I am not at liberty to discuss your parentage with you."

Tears sprang to my eyes. My mind whirled frantically trying to understand.

"I don't understand…," I whispered.

Mr. Garner looked discreetly away while I made use of his handkerchief. "That is just one of the stipulations enforced. Another is that you must stay on the estate for a minimum of three years."

"Three years!" I jumped up. "Mr. Garner, I am expected in Alexandria, Egypt this winter! I'm hoping to be there for many years. I can't stay here. Why must I stay?"

"Again, that is just how the inheritance is written out. It would be the same regardless if another were to inherit. The Collins were an extremely close- knit family – even if they did have a lot of secrets from one another. They took every precaution that a Collins would always preside over this estate. I am sorry about your plans for Egypt, but should you pursue them, you must forfeit Collinwood and all that it entails." He smiled. "You are young. Three years is not a long time. You may always go to Egypt after the restriction has expired. Remember, you would then have immense wealth at your disposal. You could have people working for you on a dig, not the other way around."

I must admit I was intrigued by that idea.

"Who put these stipulations in place? No one knew of my existence. It doesn't make any sense to me. Will I be able to know about my parents after three years? Just what am I suppose to do around here for three years?"

"I sympathize with your frustration. I wish I could answer you your questions about your parents. I can certainly answer the last one. As I have mentioned, the estate is large. It has been left unattended for nearly seven years. With this stipulation, you are in reality a steward for three years. You will be given a generous allowance each month. You have unlimited access to monies in association with the upkeep and improvement of the estate. There is much for you to do concerning the buildings and the grounds. The cannery has never stopped working, and Jeremy Haskell has been running the entire operation for the Collins family for decades. The fishing has been unusually prosperous; hence your wealth has grown and continues to grow. You may leave all of that in Mr. Haskell's capable hands. I will set up a time for us to drive over and meet with him. You should learn as much as you can about the business, even if you are not involved in the day-to-day. Not only Collinwood, but Collinsport needs your attention. Yes, I believe you will find much to occupy your time. If you are in agreement with these terms, at the end of the three years you will have access to your full inheritance. I am positive the hope of the family is such that the heir, or heirs, would share the same pride and commitment to their ancestral home as they did." He leaned forward.

"As I stated before, we have been searching for beneficiaries for quite some time. We have a crack team of investigators. Though we have only found you recently, we have thoroughly checked your background, your schooling, your very character, Miss Collins. I feel confident, that should you choose to stay, to accept these terms, you would make the Collins family proud that you share their name."

I must have looked overwhelmed, for he smiled at me and said, "Garner and Garner are here to help you. Jeremy Haskell is here to help you. We will do everything we can to help you succeed in this incredible venture life has opened up for you. Now, I will call our driver to take you back to the inn."

I had to wait until well past one in the morning to make my calls to London. Both Miss Jacky and Mr. Breck agreed that I must stay in Collinwood and receive my inheritance. Mr. Simmons felt the same. I know to most people I probably appeared foolish to be so upset about missing a dusty dig in Egypt when I was literally rolling in cash. Again, my life became a blur. I did meet with Mr. Haskell and he showed me every nook and cranny of the cannery. I liked him instantly. He was a quick, and energetic man. He explained all the various operations, the products created and shipped out all over the world, and how it also impacted the economy and lives of the residents of Collinsport. Many people worked at the cannery. It made me a little nervous to think that so many people would now depend on me for their livelihood. I explored the docks, the warehouses, and even went out on one of the fishing vessels. I found it exhilarating. Perhaps it had something to do with the possibility that my ancestors crossed over the sea. Perhaps had been even pirates!

Elliott Spencer, Randall Garner's associate, drove me all over Collinwood after his return to Collinsport. He seemed too young to be a lawyer, being not much older than myself, with bright blue eyes behind horn rimmed glasses. The estate was completely fenced and gated, and security measures had been in place since the disappearances, but everything was heavily overgrown, and an air of neglect was very noticeable. I made notes as he talked about the various buildings. It was funny, but it almost seemed like my entire life had prepared me for this, once I had gotten over my shock and surprise. Because of my work at the foundling home and tea shop, I was organized, focused, and diligent to detail. I had plenty of imagination and creativity to recognize beauty and to want to restore it. Plus, now I had unlimited money to do just that. We did not stop and enter any of the buildings that day, but I was awed by the austere grandeur of Collinwood, the romanticism of The Old House, and the quiet quaintness of The Cottage. There were other houses, gardens, stables, cemeteries, greenhouses, orchards, pastures for livestock, acres of woodland, and the cliff overlooking the pounding sea. I pinched myself over and over. It was all mine.

So was all the paperwork that followed. It seemed I spent hours, and days, signing my name to various legal documents not only in Collinsport, but also in Bangor at Garner and Garner's main office. There were also bank forms, government forms, insurance forms…so many forms! My fingers ached from the cramping. I opened a bank account, and with some of my allowance I went on a shopping spree. Well, most women would not call what I did a spree. I had not known that I would be staying in America for such a length of time, so literally only came with the clothes on my back, and my interview outfit. I sent the suitcase back to Miss Jacky filled with various edibles from the local shops. I knew she would enjoy sampling the local honey, jams, jellies, and Trask Damson Plum Preserves. I sent a variety of pickles and cheeses which I discovered at the Collins General Store to Mr. Breck. Shopping at Brewster's, I did find some basic items such as jeans, casual summer tops, skirts, sandals, and several sundresses. Plus, unmentionables, socks and pajamas. I did the rest of my shopping in Bangor. I purchased a couple of dressier outfits there, as well as khakis, shirts, and sturdy boots for working on projects around the estate. I made a note to myself to do another "spree" at the end of summer for the fall and winter months. I also bought a car. Dusty was very impressed with the car. I had managed to find a black Mini Cooper with the Union Jack emblazoned on the roof. It definitely reminded me of home. Now that transportation was supplied, I had to next figure out where I was going to live. I enjoyed the cheerful hospitality of the Collinsport Inn, but there were an abundance of tourists filling the other rooms now, dispelling the peace and quiet of when I first arrived. I was also running out of room for the books, ledgers, plans, and notebooks that I was quickly accumulating. I made an appointment with Mr. Garner the next morning, and told him of my dilemma.

He laughed at me.

(This writing has nothing to do with Dan Curtis or Dan Curtis Productions. This is only the vivid imagination of a small town girl.)


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

"Miss Collins! Do you realize how many homes you now own? You are free to live where ever you wish on the estate."

"But that's another problem – there's so many of them! I can't make up my mind."

There was a brief knock on the door, and Elliott stepped in with a thick file in his hand.

"Sorry for the interruption, but I knew you wanted this ASAP, Randall. May I make a suggestion, Miss Collins?"

"Absolutely!"

"Why don't you try The Goldilocks Method."

"The Goldilocks Method? What is that?"

"Ah!", said Mr. Garner. "You just stay at each house until you figure out which one fits you the best. Nicely done, Elliott."

Elliott winked at me as he left the room.

Mr. Garner went to a large safe in the corner of the office.

"I have the keys to the houses right here. All of them are marked. I also had copies made. Those will remain here just in case. Have fun house hunting."

I went back to Collinsport Inn to change into an outfit more suitable to hiking and exploring. Mrs. Fillmore packed me a picnic lunch. I gave her a grateful hug and drove off.

It was a beautiful summer day. The sky was blue, blue, blue with not one cloud to mar it. My mind wandered to the missing people; my people. Seven years had passed. Could they still be alive? Impossible things happened every day, and the world is a big place. Maybe they did go off on their yacht and end up marooned on a deserted island. What about the estate staff? Had they gone as well? So many questions.

The drive was not long, and I only passed one other car on the road that led to the estate. Rolling to a stop in front of the large padlocked gate, I was glad to see that Mr. Garner had also included that key as well. I was careful to lock the gate again, before continuing up the long, curving drive. It was littered with years of dead leaves, twigs and small branches. I stopped the car once the massive mansion came into view. I had read that it had been built in 1795 by Joshua Collins. It had a solid permanence about it. I had been told that there were more than 40 rooms. It possessed not only the main dwelling area, but an east and west wing stemming off from it. There was even a tower.

As I began driving once again, I tried to imagine what the grounds must look like with the lawns mowed, the bushes trimmed, the flower beds bursting with color. I found myself getting excited at the prospect. My own secret garden! I had had a garden plot at the foundling home. Year after year, I grew a variety of flowers, herbs, and vegetables. I enjoyed the smell and the feel of the dirt on my hands; I never wore gloves. My flat had backed up to another derelict building, which caused me to miss my garden plot greatly. When I finally parked, I made a note to read up on the plants of Maine, and to find out which landscaping firm the Collins used. I wasn't sure if there had been a garden crew that lived on the estate. I would have to ask Mr. Garner.

The shade from the vines and shrubs planted so near the large, oaken doors, caused me to shiver after the golden warmth of the sun. As I stepped inside, I was glad I had brought a flashlight with me. There were no windows in the entry, but some light did filter through the tall, stately, stained glass windows running along the mezzanine. They would be gorgeous after a good cleaning. As the flashlight flickered here and there, I wondered how much stone and wood had been needed to build such a large house. Before me stood two other carved, oaken doors, slightly ajar. I peeked into dense darkness. The windows were covered in thick, heavy drapes. I could tell the room was quite large, but my flashlight was not powerful enough to pierce through to the corners. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I had read about that particular phenomenon, but had never experienced it myself until that moment. At first, I could not figure out what was the matter. Then, I realized that the atmosphere of the house instead of being "empty" was heavy, and oppressive. There was not a single sound. I felt the entire structure was holding its breath. I was not going to stay here. I quickly stepped back into the foyer, and was almost to the door, when the flashlight glanced upon a portrait on the wall to my right.

It was of a young man. Was this Joshua Collins? It would make sense that the master of the house would have this imposing portrait in the foyer. I went closer, gazing up into that austere face with the sad eyes. Why was he sad? It was clear by the clothes he wore that this was a very old painting. Two hundred years at least. He may have been in the military due to the various medals displayed upon his person. A hero of the War for Independence, perhaps? That would account for his almost regal bearing. I wondered if the medals, the large ring, and the unusual cane had been passed down to his children, and his children's children; were they still even in the family? They could have been sold, stolen, and even lost at some point. I stepped back to see if there were any noticeable resemblances between ourselves. If this was Joshua Collins, then he was Abigail Collins' brother; my great, great, many times great uncle. We both had dark hair; mine was wavy and unruly, while his lay smooth and sleek. His eyes were dark. Mine are hazel with flecks of gold. My lips were fuller. His nose was longer. Perhaps the contours of our faces were similar. Maybe we shared mannerisms that passed from generation to generation. Then I remembered that I was possibly the only Collins left. How would I ever know?

I was glad to leave. Glad to escape that stillness that wasn't still. I gave a tug on the door handle to make sure the door was securely locked. I looked at my watch and discovered that it was past noon. Time for lunch. I decided that I would picnic at The Old House. Locking up the Mini Cooper, I made my way through the woods. Fortunately, a slight path still showed unevenly, but clearly, through the trees. It had become much warmer as the morning slipped into the afternoon. I stopped to put up my hair. The air was filled with the sounds of birds and insects. I wondered what other wildlife lived in this area. There was so much I didn't know about my new home. So much I needed, wanted, to learn. I was glad I had decided to wear the sturdy boots and khakis, even though the day was hot. Next time I went traipsing through the woods, I would wear a long-sleeved shirt as well. The branches and brambles tugged and tripped me as I wrestled my way through, and I bore several painful scratches on my bare arms.

The Old House suddenly came into view. This aging beauty was the original Collins mansion, built in 1767. Joshua Collins had spared no expense. Building materials, and furnishings, were a blend of the Old and New World, I was told by Elliott Spencer when he had pointed it out to me days earlier. The tall, commanding pillars were still standing firm, though in need of some repair and fresh paint. The lawns had been completely taken over by the forest. I did not remember how long it had stood empty. I found a clear spot to sit, somewhat shaded but not completely. Eagerly, I pawed through the basket of goodies. It was a ploughman's lunch consisting of a "junk" of homemade brown bread, spicy pickles wrapped in wax paper, and a wedge of mild cheese. A lidded jar contained warmish, sweetened mint tea. There was a generous slice of Mrs. Fillmore's yummy carrot cake with thick, cream cheese frosting for my sweet. I was ravenous. While I ate, I gazed up at this older home, and wondered about the people who had lived there when the smell of sawdust was still fresh in the air. I had more than gotten over the frantic feeling induced by Collinwood. Probably the sudden change of coming out of warm sunlight into cool darkness made me feel what I felt. It was natural to feel some intimidation. I was a trespasser.

After I finished eating, I found the correct key, and let myself in, locking the door safely behind me. I still had my flashlight, but the inside was much lighter and clearer. Most of the furnishings were shrouded in cloth, and dust. The dust lay all about, undisturbed except for the tell- tale signs of tiny mouse feet. Elliott had also informed me that this house had never been updated with electricity. I wondered about the plumbing. The atmosphere of this dwelling was quiet and benign. I did make a quick foray upstairs. Opening the doors to several large bedrooms, I wondered who the original sleepers had been. The numerous portraits on the walls shared no clues. I went back downstairs because I began sneezing from all the dust I was kicking up. I could not stay here. It would take some time to even clean a room or two, and I was not sure about living by candlelight at night. That left only The Cottage. I hoped it would be just right.

I looked at the map I had been given of the estate and headed in the correct direction. Silly me, the cottage was not that far from Collinwood. I could have seen it before coming to The Old House. I shook my head and started walking back the way I came. I stepped more carefully this time to avoid adding more scratches to my collection. The forest had also regained any ground it may have lost in past decades around the solid looking building that stood before me a short while later. The door resisted me at first, but finally gave way. I stepped into a completely empty room. I admired the large fireplace and imagined cozy winter evenings. It was very dusty, and rodent infested as well, because I heard the squeaking and scurrying as I peeked into the various rooms. Someone had used the place occasionally to imbibe as attested by the empty cans and bottles I discovered in my search. Probably younger residents of Collinwood sneaking away from disapproving elders. This was it! I would make The Cottage my new headquarters. I was elated, and tired, by the time I reached my car. I stowed the basket in the back seat and headed back to Collinsport.

Over dinner, I peppered Mrs. Fillmore with questions. She graciously allowed me to eat in the kitchen while she fixed plates for the other guests, and prepped items for breakfast. Valerie, her full-time waitress, and Dusty, went to and fro fulfilling customer's orders. Valerie's husband, Guy, manned the front desk. Tonight's succulent meal was homemade chicken and noodles smothering real mashed potatoes with glazed carrots on the side. Mrs. Fillmore is an amazing cook.

"Let's see," she began while carefully rolling out dough for cinnamon rolls. "I've been to Collinwood on several occasions, but I only seen the kitchen. I used to do catering in my younger days, and Mr. Fillmore was still alive and mainly handled the running of the inn at that time. I have not been out that way since he passed 15 years ago. The Collins family were always cordial. Mr. David and his wife must be in their 60's now. They have several children. I think the eldest is married. I'm so bad with names!" She paused as she liberally sprinkled the dough with cinnamon and sugar, then gently rolled the pastry into neat logs. I had finished my dinner and was drinking a hot cuppa. The noise from the dining room had also dissipated. "The family traveled quite a bit over the years," she continued. "Collinwood was shuttered and empty for months. I think they were in Europe most of the time. The children were taught by a tutor who traveled with them. Usually they were home in the winter months. Winters around here; you don't see your neighbors much. Christmas was the time I would cater for them. They would have everyone from the cannery, and quite a few of the residents from Collinsport as guests. Those who weren't afraid to go. Good food, good wine, even tasteful trinkets and small gifts for when you left. They paid and tipped well, I remember that! Most of the family through the generations have been generous to the people around here. Well, at least when money was flush. I do believe they have times of feast and times of famine just like everyone else. It is odd that their coffers grew so much after they disappeared, and them not here to enjoy it!" She glanced at me. "You understand my meaning." Mrs. Fillmore loaded the double oven with the trays of cinnamon rolls and set the timer. I picked up a rag and began wiping down the island of its floury mess. Valerie loaded up the dishwasher, and the faint hum of hoovering could be heard in the dining room.

"What about the house staff? What happened to them?", I asked as I fixed a cuppa for Mrs. Fillmore. I added just the right amount of sugar and milk before handing it to her.

"Thank you, dear! Well, there was Martha Roby, the housekeeper. Nice, friendly woman. Divorced. She came after Mrs. Johnson. I believe she moved to Rockport after the incident. Shook her up badly. There was a groundskeeper, too, but I don't remember his name. Don't know where he went. The cannery was not doing very well at the time, so staff was minimal. Why the other houses are in such a state. Not enough money. Was surprised when Martha told me about the plans for a reunion. Don't remember any Collins doing that before. Hired extra staff from here and Bangor, I believe, for some of the festivities. I don't know all the details. Not even sure how many family members came, or where they come from. Nor their names. Maybe their last name was Collins; maybe not. Could have flown in, could have driven in, could have been dropped off… That's what made it so hard for the police. People showed up at different times; Martha couldn't keep it straight. She was adamant that the day of the disappearance an early supper to be held on the lawn had been scheduled. Tents had been set up, tables decorated – it was to be a buffet, yes, that's right, and the caterer was from Bangor, and all was ready promptly at 4:00pm, and no family. Hour after hour passed, until finally at 8:00pm, Martha called the police."

"It is curious with all the current technology at our disposal that they have not been found.", I said as I washed our tea things. I stifled a yawn. All the walking and fresh air was catching up with me.

"Yes, indeed!" said Mrs. Fillmore.

Just as I was about to walk out of the kitchen, I remembered the portrait.

'When you were at Collinwood, did you notice the large portrait in the foyer? Is that Joshua Collins?"

"The large portrait..no, that's not Joshua Collins. That portrait is of his son, Barnabas."

"Barnabas? That's an unusual name."

"Actually, it's from the Bible."

"Really?" I countered. "I guess I've forgotten. Old or New Testament?"

"New. The Book of Acts, I believe. He helped the Apostle Paul. I think the name means "Son of Consolation". Perhaps that's why your ancestor bears the same name. Did you know he went to England?" I shook my head. "Mrs. Johnson told me all about him the first time I catered Collinwood. Some handsome man in that portrait! He left suddenly in the late 1790's, but I don't remember if he ever came back to America. Funny thing him going to England, and you coming from England."

Funny thing indeed.

I was halfway through the kitchen door when she called me back. "I almost forgot about the Second Barnabas!"

"The Second Barnabas?"

She waved her hand. "That's what the villagers called him. He came from England as well. It was in the late 1960's. He only stayed a few years. It was uncanny how much he looked like the First Barnabas! Uncanny. Wonder whatever became of him?"

I said my goodnights and went to my room.

Before I went to sleep, I opened my Bible and searched through Acts until I found the passages that spoke of the Barnabas who helped Saul of Tarsus two thousand years ago. Son of Consolation. Son of Exhortation. Son of Comfort. My dreams were disquieting that night. I found myself back in the darkness of Collinwood, the heaviness pressing down on me, and swirling all around I heard them; the whispers of faceless, nameless people. They were telling me to leave.

(This writing has nothing to do with Dan Curtis or Dan Curtis Productions. This is just the vivid imagination of a small town girl.)


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

The next morning, I went and purchased a ton of cleaning supplies: brooms, mops, pails, rubbish bags, rubber gloves, mouse traps, cheese for the traps, sponges, rags, an arsenal of cleaning lotions and potions, and what not. Mrs. Fillmore gave me a hamper of food this time. I planned on being gone the entire day. I also called the electric company, who assured me the power would be switched back on later that morning, not only at The Cottage, but also at Collinwood. I once again made my way to the estate. It was another gorgeous day, and I sang loudly with the radio. I had to make several trips from the car to unload all my purchases inside. After getting it ready for occupancy, having someone come out with rider mowers and weedwhackers would be my next step. Being able to park right outside the door was major. I was already hot and sweaty before I even started bagging up all the empty containers. The windows and door were opened for maximum coolness and fresh air. Tying a bandana around my hair, and another one over my nose and mouth protected me from the dust storm that threatened to obliterate me. I hummed and whistled as I carefully swept the rooms upstairs, before laying out mousetraps. I hated killing them, but I also did not relish the idea of sharing my abode with vermin. After sweeping the stairs and lower rooms, I once again lay traps in all the corners. The bathroom and kitchen were disgusting. I stopped to make notes of what I would need: a refrigerator, stove, kitchen table and chairs, bed, dresser, sofa, comfy chairs, book shelves, a desk, linens, crockery, glassware…oh, and lamps, curtains – in fact, just about everything. I had wired funds to Miss Jacky to box up all my belongings and place them in storage. I calculated it would be far less expensive to purchase new items here. Plus, I could ransack the other houses for anything I needed as well. Imagining the cottage fitted out with lovely old antiques cheered me considerably as I resumed cleaning the grimy windows.

I broke for lunch and munched on cheese and tomato sandwiches with two packets of crisps. There was also a thermos of coffee, several bottles of water, a bunch of green grapes, and chocolate chip cookies. I had drunk most of the coffee early on with wild blueberry muffins for my breakfast. My clothes had become a little bit tighter since coming to Collinsport. I would have to remedy that somehow. I was not used to eating so much. Looking back over the list, I also added to have the chimney and roof inspected. Couldn't hurt to have the wiring and pipes looked at either. Since I was pretty full from lunch, I decided to continue my break with a walk. It began rather aimlessly, but then I remembered that Eagle Hill Cemetery was not too far. I do like meandering through graveyards; the older the better. I enjoy reading the tombstones. I consulted the handy dandy map that I had ready in my back pocket, along with a field guide of Maine's flora and fauna that I had borrowed from the inn. Presently, I literally stumbled upon the historic burying ground, because the grass was so high that a low headstone caught me unawares. It was a very picturesque location. Black Eyed Susan's, and a variety of colorful lupines were set off by the lush, thick, greenery and the mellow color of the stones and statuary. I made another mental note about weedwhackers. A somber gray mausoleum could be seen in the distance. I carefully made my way to it. A heavy, intricately designed iron door stood slightly ajar. I shoved as hard as I could, but only managed to move it enough for me to squeeze inside. Dead leaves crunched under my feet as I skirted the sarcophagi that lay three in a row, so I could examine the memorial plaques mounted on the wall, which read left to right:

Joshua Collins Naomi Collins Sarah Collins

I recognized Joshua's name as the builder of The Old House and Collinwood. Studying the dates, I surmised that Naomi must have been his wife, and Sarah, his daughter. I felt a pang as I realized Sarah had died young. My next thought was where could Abigail be buried? I would have to hunt for her resting spot another time.

While I had been inside the mausoleum, a summer storm had suddenly hidden the sun. The wind was blowing hard and the trees thrashed the air as I ran quickly back to the safety of the cottage. The first big drops hit just as I unlocked the door. I hurriedly closed the windows. The rain began to fall in earnest from the sky. I sat on the floor of the cottage with the door wide open watching the heavens pour upon the earth. It smelled wonderful. I thought about running out and dancing in it, but the lightning and thunder reminded me that that was probably not a good idea. I had no idea how long the storm would last, so I dragged over the hamper and finished the now cold coffee with several of the chewy cookies. Flipping through the field guide, I read up on the state of Maine.

 _FACT: Maine is the first state that the sun rises in America_

 _FACT: Maine was once part of Massachusetts until it became a state in 1820_

 _FACT: Maine is called the Pine Tree State because of all the pine trees_

I read about logging, moose, puffins, potatoes, Indians, bobcats, chickadees, pitch pines, maple syrup, lobsters, tourmalines, pink lady slipper orchids, and a variety of other interesting facts. The rain began to slacken, as I stood up and stretched. I tried the light switch, but I could not tell if the electricity had been turned on since there were no lightbulbs in place. I added those on my long list of things to buy.

The sun looked like it had decided not to return for the rest of the day, so I packed up the hamper, double checked that windows and door were tightly secured, and dashed for the car. On the drive home, I remembered that Mrs. Fillmore had asked if I wanted to help decorate the inn for the Fourth of July. My eyes suddenly teared. I had no idea when I came to America, that there would be people who would treat me like I was one of their own. Miss Jacky made me feel that way back in London. I had been frightened that I would not find that sense of belonging here. Mrs. Fillmore knew I was an orphan and had taken me under her wing; hence eating in the kitchen and helping out at the inn when I could. Normalcy. She gave me normalcy. I wasn't just the wealthy heiress with the strange accent that needed to be waited on hand and foot. She also didn't pry into my affairs, but I knew instinctively that she would have an ear ready if ever I needed someone to talk to.

My new life was not even a month old, but I was glad that I was not homesick. I sniffed and wiped at my eyes. I was ready for a holiday. My body ached from all the cleaning. Perhaps a day off hanging red, white, and blue bunting was just the break I needed.

The next day was overcast, but dry. My limbs were still sore, but after several mugs of strong, black coffee and two Bear Claws, I was ready to help the inn shine with patriotic glory. Guy and Dusty had bunting duty, while I filled urns and window boxes with perky red geraniums, and masses of variegated petunias in red and white. The entire village was swathed in red, white, and blue. American flags flew proudly from every store front. The streetcleaner went slowly up and down the main thoroughfare in preparation for the parade the next day.

"The whole village takes the day off, "explained Mrs. Fillmore, as I helped her in the kitchen preparing gallons of lemonade, piles of fried chicken, and mounds of potato salad after lunch. I like cooking and baking as much as I do eating. I was learning a lot about American cuisine.

"Even the cannery will be shut down.", she continued. "Does the same for Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter. Good for everyone to be free to celebrate and enjoy themselves. I can't close the inn, but the guests will be out and about for the most part anyway. I'll serve pastries for breakfast, and what we be making right now will be fine for lunch or dinner. Guy and Valerie have the morning and early afternoon off, and then they'll take over for the rest of the evening. We switch it up every other year. What are your plans?"

"Plans?" The question caught me off guard. "Oh, I hadn't really thought about it. Dusty told me about the parade…I thought I would do some shopping for the cottage, but if all the shops will be closed…"

"Go to the parade!", she said, waving a wooden spoon at me. "Go wander around and see all the sights. There's all kinds of live music, and dancing, and then there's fireworks at night. You're a young thing. You need a day off to just have some fun."

Again, the tears came to my eyes. I blinked and scrubbed harder at the potatoes. At that moment, Dusty came loping into the kitchen and plopped down at the table.

"Nan, is any of that lemonade ready for sampling? You make the best lemonade in the whole, wide world!" he wheedled.

Waving the wooden spoon at him this time, she asked, "Did you finish helping Guy wash all the windows?"

"Yes, ma'am, I sure did." he replied.

Mrs. Fillmore took a tall glass from the cupboard, added lots of ice, and filled it to the brim with a slice of lemon adding a splash of color. Dusty drained it in seconds. He sighed with contentment as he pronounced it "wicked good".

"Can I have another, barkeep?"

Mrs. Fillmore sighed. "May I have…"

"May I have…", he parroted.

"Dear, you may have as much as you like. Take a glass out to Guy, too."

I smiled, as I finished chopping the onions and the potatoes for the salad.

"Where does Dusty live?"

"His folks live in New Hampshire. My daughter fell in love with a tourist – it happens all the time – and that was where he was from. She's my only child, and Dusty is my only grandchild. I am blessed to have him every summer when he became old enough to help out. He loves it here. I most likely will leave him the inn when I pass."

"Have you always lived in Collinsport?" I asked as I liberally salted the potatoes.

"Yes, and Mr. Fillmore, too. Some families been here a long, long time. There's Haskells, Stokes, Jennings, Trasks… the cannery and fishing fleet always provided good jobs through the centuries. Shops do well, too. We attract plenty of tourists during the summer, but they are usually gone by late August. I am some glad that we are still a small village, though. Makes it easier to keep up on the gossip," she said with a laugh.

I laughed too.

After doing all I could in the kitchen, I helped Valerie by ironing napkins and tablecloths for the dining room, filled salt and pepper shakers, arranged red, white, and blue carnations in vases for the tables, and watered the Boston Ferns on the veranda. I went to my room to freshen up before dinner. I lay on the bed for what I thought was a few minutes and ended up falling into such a deep sleep, that I didn't wake until the next morning.

I woke up to bright, benevolent sunshine filling the sky. I quickly showered and then went through my wardrobe for something suitable for holiday wear. A long, crimson, cotton sundress and silver sandals would be festive and comfortable. I decided to forgo my ponytail, and let my locks dry naturally, loose and long. Silver hoop earrings from Miss Jacky last Christmas completed my look. I suddenly felt giddy and pranced down the stairs to the kitchen.

"Ta-Da!" I trumpeted as I bounced into the room.

"Good Morning, Sleepyhead," sang Valerie, as she squeezed past me carrying two carafes of coffee for the dining room.

Dusty gave me an approving wolf whistle as he followed right behind her with a large basket containing oodles of bagels. I pirouetted to the coffee maker and poured myself a cuppa.

"Happy Fourth of July, Miss Firecracker!" chuckled Guy as he hurried to answer the bell summoning him to the front desk.

"Happy Fourth of July, Mrs. Fillmore!" I saluted her with my mug.

"Happy Fourth of July, Miss Collins! Now, you go on and enjoy the day."

I decided I would stand on the veranda (all the rocking chairs were occupied) and drink my coffee while the parade went by. It was crowded and noisy outside. Snatches of song and laughter filled the air. Some people were sitting in lawn and camp chairs set up on the sidewalks, with even more people standing behind them. I had missed the beginning of the parade but enjoyed the floats, the dance troupes, the horse and pony club members, the stilt walkers and the jugglers that made up the remainder. The crowd was enthusiastic with their applause, and I clapped and cheered right along with them. Today's celebration could not be remotely compared to the Notting Hill Carnival, but this was my home now, if perhaps only temporarily. Did not both our flags share the same colors? When in Rome… As the last dance troupe tapped danced by tossing sweets from plastic buckets, and volunteers with push brooms cleaned up after the horses, I went back inside to leave my mug in the kitchen. Running upstairs, I grabbed my crossover bag and sunnies, and once again headed outside into the throng.

I was starving since I had missed dinner the night before, so my first plan of attack was to find sustenance. A church on the corner was serving up stacks of puffy pancakes soaked in real maple syrup and butter accompanied with a rasher of bacon. I happily plunked down my money and took my plate to a crowded picnic table. The others seated there scooted over so I could join them. I hope nobody noticed the way I devoured those pancakes. They were so good. When I finished, I decided to locate some more coffee and spend the rest of the morning browsing the open-air flea market on the village green.

The sun rose higher and higher in the sky. The temperature rose as well. By the time my watch read 2:00pm, I could feel the first hint of sunburn on my skin. Leaving the green, I inched down the crowded main street and headed for the docks.

The Blue Whale was open and doing a thriving business. The smell of frying fish and chips reminded me of London, so I decided to stop in and have lunch. Inside was cool and dark after the brilliance outside. It was not as crowded, and I was quickly shown to a ring-stained table looking out onto the ocean. I ordered the fish and chips and smiled inwardly while the waitress assured me of the freshness of the fish. For all I knew, my boats caught that fish! While I waited, I noticed in the corner a larger group of people close to my own age laughing and talking. Was that Veronica, the secretary at Garner and Garner? An intense looking man with black hair was whispering in her ear. She whispered back, and then they both looked my way. I immediately looked down. Suddenly, I felt awkward and exposed. This was a small town. Probably everybody in this room knew who I was. When I looked up again, the whole group was whispering and throwing glances my way. If the waitress had not just appeared with my order, I am sure I would have gotten up and left. The smell of the freshly fried cod and potatoes were incredibly tantalizing. As she was asking me about ketchup, tartar sauce and malt vinegar, another man, unseen by me, suddenly was seated in the opposite chair.

(This writing has nothing to do with Dan Curtis or Dan Curtis Productions. This is just the vivid imagination of a small town girl.)


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

"Greetings! My name is Tobias Stokes. Please feel free to call me Toby. That is the moniker my friends prefer. You are Constance Collins, glad to meet you!" he boomed as he extended his hand. Slightly flustered, I shook it. He was average height, slightly pudgy, with an unruly mop of brown hair.

"I apologize for intruding," he continued, "but my friends and I" – he pointed over his shoulder to the group who continued to stare – "were wondering if you would like to join us. Nobody should be sitting alone at The Blue Whale, especially on the Fourth of July. We have plenty of room. What do you say?"

I am not the most spontaneous person, but his unabashed friendliness was contagious.

"Sure! Why not!" I responded, as he swooped up my fish and chips, and carried them to the crowded table.

Toby sat my food down across from a tall, gorgeous black girl and sat down next to her. "See, I told you she wasn't a snob.," he announced to the group. I do not have a poker face, so my startled expression was clearly read by all. The gorgeous black girl laughed musically as she said, "Please forgive my boyfriend! He has never met a stranger. I'm Honey Wills, Toby's "Girlfriend-For-Life." So nice to meet you." We shook hands. Her hand was smooth and cool.

"Hello. I'm Constance Collins."

Toby pointed to the rest of the people one by one. "Introductions all around then. Next to Honey is Allison Shaw, then the brooding fellow is Michael Anderson, and Veronica Clark there on the end, who I know you have met on previous occasions at the illustrious office of Garner and Garner."

Allison was pale and skinny with straight blonde hair cut into a short bob with a fringe. Michael had large dark eyes that matched his black hair perfectly. He and Veronica made a striking couple, if they were one. Everyone was obviously taller than me. It is a funny thing about being small; I often forget I am. I hear dogs are the same way. Small dogs always behave as though they are big dogs.

We exchanged hellos. I noticed that Veronica did not look happy. I wondered if she had been telling tales. That could be a problem.

"So…," whispered Allison, as she leaned in a little closer. Her voice was high and reminded me of a little girl. "What's it like having all that money?"

My face reddened, and I choked on a chip. There were protests from Toby and Honey. What was I thinking joining a group of complete strangers? How much had Veronica shared?

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" mumbled Allison, clearly distressed now by her question.

"It's okay," I managed to gasp as Honey handed me a glass of water.

Veronica abruptly stood up and made noise about the time. She moved quickly through the crowd and was out the door, ignoring the cries of the others. I was glad she left. Then I felt a light touch on my shoulder, and I looked up to see Elliott Spencer by my side.

"Miss Collins! I thought that was you. What are you doing eating with this noisy bunch of hooligans?"

Before I could reply, he had already thumped down in the seat so recently vacated by Miss Clark. By the welcoming banter, I realized that he and the others were well acquainted. The tension quickly left, and soon I was only answering general questions about being British, nightlife in London, how did I find America, etc.

"Oh!" said Honey. "What are you doing later tonight, Constance? We are having an old-fashioned clambake at…at..." Honey stammered to a stop.

"At a beach. A private beach that just happens to be part of your property.", finished Michael in a soft voice.

Even Elliott looked discomfited.

Toby coughed and said, "Yes. You see, we have known each other since we were youngsters. Except for Honey. She came here to run the Collinsport Library when she graduated from college. Fortuitous break for me!" he declared. Honey promptly kissed him on the cheek. He beamed with pleasure and continued. "Allison and I have lived here in Collinsport our entire lives, while Michael and Elliott would come from Bangor to spend the summers here."

"You already know I work for Garner and Garner," interrupted Elliot. "Michael is a free lance writer, and Allison owns her own flower shop. Tobias here runs the Collinsport Museum."

"And you all meet every year on my beach for a clambake.." my voice trailed off. I was having a hard time keeping a straight face, they all looked so guilty. Except Michael. His expression was neutral.

"Michael's family rented out The House by the Sea for years and years," chirped Allison.

The name meant nothing to me. I turned to Elliott with a puzzled look.

"Oops!" he grimaced. "I forgot all about taking you by there when I was giving you the tour. The Collins family have been renting it out for so long, that I forget it's part of the estate. Even after their disappearance, Randall didn't see any reason to break the Anderson's lease." He glanced over at Michael and continued. "Michael has been living there year-round lately."

"Oh!" I said. "Then we will be neighbors."

"Neighbors?" murmured Michael. "I thought no one was living at Collinwood? Aren't you living at the inn?"

I shook my head as I ate the last cold chip. "Not for much longer. I need more space so I am having The Cottage renovated to be my headquarters, if you will. Collinwood and The Old House need a lot of work. This way I will be constantly on the estate to help oversee the projects."

Toby let out a low whistle. "That seems like a lot of work for one person!" he exclaimed.

"Fortunately, I have a lot of marvelous people helping me," I said, as I nodded towards Elliott.

He smiled and looked pleased by my compliment.

"And all that marvelous money, too," sighed Allison.

I wasn't ready to explain all the details of my inheritance with people I had just met, so I ignored her comment and asked about the location of the beach.

Turns out the beach was at The House by the Sea. The party would begin shortly after dusk, and all assured me that I needn't bring anything but myself. Elliott volunteered to pick me up and drive me over. I made my goodbyes and headed back to the inn. After a refreshing shower, I took a catnap. Waking at 6:00pm, I quickly baked a wild blueberry pie, with only a tart like bottom crust. Mrs. Fillmore had shown me how to make them the previous week. I was glad not to be going empty handed to the clambake. Sufficiently cooled, I placed my culinary creation in a shallow wooden basket specially designed for conveying pies. Then I went upstairs to finish getting ready. My face and arms were a tender pink from the sun, so I slathered soothing aloe vera on them. A plain white tee shirt, denim clamdiggers and leather sandals would be perfect for sitting around a bonfire. I pulled my hair into a pony and applied minimal makeup - some black mascara and lip balm. Tiny sprays of my favorite orange blossom perfume on neck and wrists. It had been quite a while since I had been out with people my own age. Cute men my own age, too!

I chatted with Guy and Valerie at the front desk until Elliott collected me promptly at 9:30pm. He showed me a back way through Collinsport that led to the rental property. It also gave the village access to Eagle Hill Cemetery. I had wondered how Michael and others had managed to be on the estate while the main gate had been locked the past seven years. The House by the Sea was yet another gorgeous architectural example of a bygone era. I added the property to my list of things to do. Even though Michael was paying rent, I was positive that repairs and updates were needed. No slum lord am I! Luminaries in the shapes of shells lined either side of a path gently meandering from the back of the house to the beach. Their flickering light led us safely to the group gathered around the more brilliant flames of the driftwood bonfire. Wood smoke is one of my favorite smells. The combination of sea, smoke and sand was heady. Everyone exclaimed over my pie, and Toby carried it triumphantly to a large rock that held an assortment of all things necessary for a late-night picnic. I noticed that Veronica was not there, and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

Honey and Allison showed me where lobsters, clams, corn on the cob, and small red potatoes covered in seaweed, and encased in tin foil were cooking. The smell was heavenly, and my mouth watered. Allison promised to tell me the entire process step by step at another time. We went back to where the others were sitting out of harms way of the crackling flames and sat down on the brightly colored blankets spread out upon the sand. I found myself seated between Elliott and Allison. Elliott passed me a mason jar full of liquid. I sniffed and smelled honey and something sweet that reminded me of summer.

"It's peach cider," Elliott explained. "Hard cider. An aunt of mine makes it every year from her very own trees. My contribution for tonight's feast."

I am not a big drinker. I have had the odd pint at the pub once in a while so I cautiously took a small sip.

"Mmmm! Wicked good!" I slyly said in my best Cockney accent, as I took another larger sip. Everyone laughed. I then passed the jar to Allison.

"Oh, none for me, thanks! I'm expecting," she said as she patted her belly with both hands.

I was momentarily shocked by her comment. Her sleeveless tunic was of a flowy material, but she did not look pregnant to me. I coughed and handed the jar to Michael who sat across from Allison.

"How far along are you?" I asked.

"I'm just starting my third trimester," she said. "I know I don't look very big…"

"Because you eat like a bird!" sighed Honey.

"I can't help it if I'm not that hungry. The doctor says I'm fine, and I have been making myself eat more," pouted Allison.

I didn't notice any rings on her hands.

Michael and Toby got up to check on the lobsters. The rest of us brought over the oversized plates, paper towels, soft rolls, and small tubs of drawn butter to the blankets. There were galvanized pails filled with ice and bottles of lemonade, water, and beer. We cheered as Toby hallooed to us that the food was ready. Everything was cooked to perfection. It was one of the most delicious experiences I have ever had. It was decadent and savage to eat with only my hands, everything dripping with the rich, salty butter. I used a roll to wipe up all the butter left on my plate, not wanting to waste one drop. The sounds of the surf and the bonfire, were soothing in the background while we talked and ate, and ate, and ate. It made me think of The Walrus and The Carpenter. Michael even looked a little like Lewis Carroll in the firelight.

I learned a lot that night. Elliott had a girlfriend who lived and worked in Bangor named Hannah Smith, who also happened to be Michael's cousin. She was currently overseas working on a substantial merger that would most likely take months to finalize. Her law firm was newer and larger than Garner and Garner, and she traveled quite a bit. Toby and Honey had only been dating a few months. Their paths crossed so frequently because of their respective jobs and love of learning, that Toby finally asked her out for coffee one wet, spring day and she agreed. They had been dating happily ever since. Michael, like his cousin Hannah, also traveled quite a bit; most of his articles dealt with finance and microeconomics. I shared a little about working at the tea shop, life at the foundling home, and the barest minimum of how I ended up a sole heiress on the coast of Maine.

When we all declared we were too stuffed to eat one more clam, Toby called for entertainment. Michael and Elliott added more wood to the now much smaller fire, while the rest of us added the remains of the repast to the flames as well. Stacking the plates and empty tubs on the accommodating rock, we shook off the sand and repositioned the blankets at a diagonal from the fire. To the left would be the stage. Toby began by telling the history of Widow's Hill, and how many believed it was haunted by ghosts:

"Many have seen them walking the hill, and the wailing sounds of the wind, is actually the sobbing of the widows," he finished in a hushed, eerie voice.

I enjoy a good ghost story, and clapped loudly while Toby, bowing, regained his seat beside Honey. Michael was next and began a soliloquy concerning the difference between microeconomics and macroeconomics which earned him much booing, and he laughingly returned to his spot. Allison quickly took his place and began to sing:

"I'm gonna dance for you

Gonna dance your cares away

I'll do the hootchie-coo

And the Ta-ra-boom-de-ay…"

Toby and Michael began hooting and cat calling, while Honey and Elliott jumped up and joined her. I laughed until I cried watching the three of them doing bawdy, burlesque while they continued to sing:

"I'll sing a happy song

While I dance the whole night long

When the music begins

I'll give you some spins

I'll even invent a step or two

So on with the show

You'll love it I know

Oh, I'm gonna dance for you!"

After they sang it twice through, with much winking and gyrating, we gave them a standing ovation, whistling, clapping and stomping our feet as much as we could on sand. They took their bows and resumed their seats. Honey declared that she was ready for dessert, and we all went back to the house to partake of the facilities and to retrieve fresh plates and forks. Once again, we were gathered near the fire, and I beamed as everyone enjoyed the pie. It was past midnight, and I was beginning to get drowsy. I had finished my sweet and was gazing into the flames, which had fascinating blues and lavenders due to the salt soaked into the wood. Toby and Honey decided to take a stroll down the beach, and Michael and Elliott were talking about something legal or financial that I couldn't quite follow. My eyes must have closed, but they flew right open when I heard Allison say in her high whisper,

"I'm an orphan, too. My folks were killed in a car accident when I was eighteen. I inherited the flower shop from them."

"I'm so sorry! How awful!" I replied, my heart wrenching for her.

Her smile was wistful, as she said, "Yes, it was pretty awful. If it hadn't been for Bobby…" her voice trailed off.

"Who's, Bobby?" I asked.

She hung her head and played with the edge of the blanket before replying. "He was my high school sweetheart. His family helped me with so much after the funeral. I don't know what I would have done without them. Finishing high school, running the flower shop…Bobby decided not to go to college, you know? He stayed to help me sell flowers…then we got married…"

"Oh!" I said softly.

She sniffed before continuing. "We - we were so - so happy when we found out I was pregnant." Allison turned to me with a bright smile. "It's a boy!"

I smiled back.

Her face darkened, and she looked at the flames crackling and dancing in the night sky. "Then it happened. Not long after. Bobby loved running. One of his favorite routes was along the cliff, not far from here. He must have been distracted, or – or he stepped wrong…when he didn't come home, I knew something terrible had happened."

I was horrified.

"Oh, Allison!", I cried. My hand gripped hers as tears formed in my eyes. I could not imagine her grief.

She sniffed and squeezed my hand. "Everyone has been so supportive. I'm lucky to have such good friends."

I nodded in agreement.

"What about Bobby's parents? Do they still live around here?" I asked.

Allison shook her head. "No, they moved several years ago due to a job transfer. They did invite me to come live with them. Bobby didn't have insurance – we were so young! Who thinks about wills and life insurance at our age? Maybe when the baby came, but - but I have the shop…it doesn't make a ton of money, but it's mine and I won't give it up."

There was a firm finality in her voice.

At that moment, Toby and Honey came running and laughing back to the blankets. "Ladies and Gentlemen," said Toby, "this has been a glorious evening, but alas, duty calls and it must be answered! I don't know about you slug abouts, but we have to go to work in the morning."

The men took care of putting the fire out and cleaning up the cook site, while we carried the remaining food, dishes and blankets back to the house. Allison was familiar with the layout, and we three chatted about mundane things as we cleaned and put things away. Soon we were all saying goodbye and going our separate ways. It was a wonderful evening.

I told Elliott about my conversation with Allison on the way back to the inn.

"My heart breaks for her! I can't imagine what she's had to go through – first losing her parents, and then her husband so recently – it's so horrible!" I said.

Elliott agreed. "Bobby was a great guy. You would have liked him. It's still unreal that he's gone. Such an awful way, too. We help Allison as much as we can. She comes across as somewhat fragile, but she has depths of resiliency that are truly amazing. Especially when her folks died."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Because the night her parents were killed in the car accident, Allison was driving."

(This writing has nothing to do with Dan Curtis or Dan Curtis Productions. This is just the vivid imagination of a small town girl.)


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Miss Jacky was thrilled that I had finally met some people close to my own age, and that I actually stepped out of my comfort zone and had fun at the clambake. After we finished our chat, I then called Mr. Breck. I enjoyed "checking in" with these two every couple of weeks. In a sense, they were my London guardians, and I knew they enjoyed the updates as well. I just wish I didn't have to call in the wee hours of the morning due to the time zone. Hanging up, I went back to sleep.

A week had already passed since the Fourth of July and I had been non-stop with the exciting plans for The Cottage and the rest of the estate. Like my calls to London, I also had "checking in" meetings with Jeremy Haskell at the cannery and Randall Garner at his office at least once a week. I had tried on my last meeting with Randall to wheedle out of him some information about my parents but to no avail. I would just have to wait. I did leave with an enormous check, though. I had never seen so many zeroes in my life, and my hands shook as I gave it to the bank teller to deposit in my account. I didn't see Elliott at the office, and I was relieved not to have to spend much time alone with Veronica. I suspect she felt the same.

Mrs. Fillmore had given me a list of local handymen and businesses to help make updates and repairs. The Cottage had been thoroughly inspected from top to bottom. The wiring, plumbing and roof were made sound, the chimney and fireplace and gutters were cleaned of all debris, the kitchen and bathroom were thoroughly gutted and redesigned to make the most of the space. The chalky smell of fresh paint and the refinished floors added to the anticipation of occupation. I also made good concerning The House by the Sea. Fortunately, it was in much better condition and needed less work. Mr. Garner suggested I tackle outside projects first since the summer did not last long in this area. Breaking it down on paper made it less of an overwhelming process. Outside meant mowing, trimming, weeding, raking and sweeping up debris off the driveways and pathways, cutting down dead and dying trees, thinning the woods where necessary; especially the heavy undergrowth in areas, restoring the lawns, repairing fences, attending to the cemetery, checking roofs and windows for repairs, exterior painting, replacing any damaged or rotted wood, repointing of brickwork, having all the chimneys and fireplaces checked and in full working order. The last were both outside and inside jobs. Water heaters, sump pumps, wells, furnaces, wiring, and plumbing would all also be put to rights hopefully before winter came. It made perfect sense to have all the mechanicals functioning safely for work to be carried out inside the various buildings during the colder months. Several representatives from the Bangor office of Garner and Garner did duty as overseers while work was conducted on the estate. Many hands would be necessary to accomplish all of these projects. Some would come from Collinsport, but many would have to come from Bangor due to the sheer numbers needed.

The same was true concerning my purchases. I jaunted off to Bangor for a couple of days. That was a lot of fun. For some unexplained reason, I did not want to remove any furniture from The Old House. I felt it belonged there. The main part of Collinwood would not be touched as well. I would only take the unused items from the closed off portions of the estate. I kept putting off going back to Collinwood, but soon I had no more excuses for delaying. Then I thought of a brilliant solution. I would ask Toby Stokes to go with me. He would undoubtedly be thrilled to see all of the bygone treasures stored up in the East and West wings. That turned out to be the case when I called him and made my suggestion. After arranging matters at the museum, he was able to come away two days hence. In the meantime, I took a break from estate duty and helped around the inn where I could.

The day of our visit turned out to be grey and rainy. I picked up Toby at his apartment on Arrowhead Road. He told me how Elliott and Veronica also lived in the same building. Honey had a quaint cottage within walking distance of the library, and Allison lived above the florist shop. Mrs. Fillmore had sent us off with a loaded picnic basket stowed in the backseat. There were also several heavy-duty flashlights in case we lost power. Due to the weather, all the work crews were gone. It was amazing the difference they had made in such a short amount of time. The lawn was smooth and green, the shrubbery neatly trimmed. The majestic oaks, beeches, balsams and white pines now had breathing room. I was pleased when I heard the report that there were masses of maples for sugaring on the property, especially near The Old House. The rain slowed to a light drizzle as we stepped out of the car. I breathed in the clean scent of rain; that heady aroma of water, earth and growing things. The essence of life itself.

"I believe the last Stokes to be at Collinwood was my great-uncle Timothy. He was a professor at the local university. I remember hearing he was fond of sherry," Toby said. "Another ancestor of mine, Ben Stokes, worked at The Old House, before coming to this grand behemoth. I am so delighted that you asked me to come with you, Constance! This will be almost like traveling back in time."

"Thank you again for agreeing to come out here with me.", I responded. "I must admit that I don't feel totally comfortable being here alone. It's so - so HUGE! You were the person I felt would most enjoy and appreciate looking over 'old things'. Shall we?"

Suddenly, the gentle rain became a torrent. Toby grabbed the picnic basket and I the flashlights, as we ran from the car to the doors. Finding the correct key, we quickly entered into the cool and dry foyer. We shook the water from our hair. I was immensely relived that the power worked when I flipped the switches, and cheering light filled the foyer and the mezzanine. The drawing room doors were closed, and I inadvertently shivered as I remembered my last visit there. Even though Toby was with me, and the light chased all shadows from the space, I did not wish to linger. I wondered if anyone else felt what I had felt. Toby admired the stately grandfather clock and other pieces of furniture scattered throughout the area. My heart was beating faster, and I was seriously considering leaving when he asked if I knew the man in the portrait. His voice broke the tension that I felt was thick in the air. My entire body relaxed.

"Yes, that is the original Barnabas Collins. When I first saw it, I thought it was Joshua Collins. Mrs. Fillmore corrected me when I asked about its history," I said.

"Ben Stokes was an indentured servant of Joshua Collins. I believe Barnabas Collins taught Ben how to read and write," said Toby. He made a grand bow before the painting. "A thousand compliments and thanks to ye, Sir!" he intoned.

I laughed, and motioned Toby to follow me up the staircase. He was in raptures over the stained glass. I was finally able to pull him away, and we made the decision to explore the West wing first. As we passed through the door that led to the family's living quarters, I wondered how one reached the tower. We discussed the pros and cons of the romanticism of life in a tower i.e. Rapunzel, and Quasimodo. To reach the wings of the house, we had to pass all the closed rooms the missing Collins' had once used. I tried several doors only to discover them locked. Even the doors leading to the wings were tightly secured. I had keys to the these, but not for the others. I kept waiting for what I had felt in the drawing room to suddenly happen in this section of the house, but everything felt "normal." The mansion was so solidly built, that the rain was but an indistinct and distant drumming to my ears. The air was musty but not unpleasant. Entering the West wing, we discovered that electricity had not been applied to all sections, so the flashlights were useful. This puzzled me, but then I remembered that the Collins family had lean times and perhaps that was all they could do. What was even more surprising, was when we discovered that some suites of rooms looked as though they had been occupied in more recent times than others. I decided to abandon those as my source of furniture for The Cottage. There were plenty of other rooms to choose from, and our exclamations of delight and appreciation for the exquisite woodworking and master craftsmanship echoed through those dusty time capsules. Unfortunately, most of the carpets and curtains were ravaged by moths and the like, and Toby shook his head mournfully at their loss.

"What a pity!" he moaned.

"Do you think they could be salvaged?" I asked.

"It does depend on the extent of the damage. It most likely will cost you dear. Such a travesty!" he groaned.

I turned quickly to study a mahogany armoire and bit my lip to hide my smile. I did not want him to think I was laughing at his pain. We agreed that most of the furnishings did appear to be mainly from the Victorian Era. Several large storage rooms were chock full of much older items. Who knew what hidden gems were kept in the East wing, the attics, the cellars and servant's quarters? The prospect of going through all of this overwhelmed me. It must have shown on my face, for with a gentle harrumph, Toby said, "This must be daunting for you. I would be most honored if you would allow me to help catalog all of this. Honey would enjoy helping too; I'm sure of it. I suggest, for now, that you choose pieces that are necessary for the cottage. You can always switch things around should we come across trappings that speak more strongly to you. Did you bring a tape measurer?"

"Tobias Stokes, you, my friend, are brilliant. Simply brilliant!" I gushed.

For the next two hours, we discussed, measured, argued (good naturedly), and finally agreed on a multitude of items. I had brought along a cube of sticky notes, and carefully placed one upon each possibility. Naturally, since most of these items were being looked at through the localized beam of a flashlight in dark, gloomy rooms, it was possible that some may not be as pleasing or suitable in the natural light of day. We decided to skip the East wing and went back to plunder the picnic basket we had left in the foyer. Locking the door to the West wing, we once again traversed the corridor of closed doors. What secrets did they hold? I would ask Mr. Garner for the keys at our next meeting.

Coming out onto the mezzanine, strong rays of sunlight poured through the colored glass and temporarily blinded us. At the bottom of the stairs, I flipped off the lights while Toby opened wide the front doors, letting in the warm, fragrant air of the evergreens. We sat on the threshold and split a Maine Italian. It was a thick and satisfying sandwich. There were bottles of homemade root beer, and heavy packets of Valerie's velvety fudge filled with dried wild blueberries and black walnuts to sate our sweet tooth. We munched appreciatively in silence, the only other noticeable sounds were the crinkle of the butcher's paper and the occasional call of a songbird. Toby ate his half of the sandwich in huge bites. He jumped to his feet after popping the last bit into his mouth and headed for the drawing room doors.

"I wonder what's in here…", he began to say.

"Toby! Don't!" I yelled.

I was immediately by his side.

Toby was understandably startled by my words. I struggled on how to convey my aversion without sounding like a crazy person.

"Do you – do you believe in the supernatural?" I queried.

His expression changed to one of thoughtfulness.

"What do you mean?" he said slowly. "Spooks? Things that go bump in the night?"

I hesitated and then spoke in a rush, "The last time I was here, I went in that room and - and I felt something. Something _not_ natural. I know it sounds crazy…" my words came to a stop.

"Was this during the day or did this happen at night?" he asked.

"It was during the day, but the room was dark. No electricity." I said.

Toby's eyes glanced over the closed doors, as he replied, "My great uncle I was telling you about, specialized in the occult. I think he met with a sticky end. My family, like most families, were rather hush-hush about it. Do I believe in ghosts and goblins? I cannot give you a definitive answer on the subject, but I do believe there is much in the world that defies explanation. I also strongly believe in not being fearful of the unknown."

I took a deep breath and let it out, as I squared my shoulders and opened the doors. My palms were slick with sweat as I fumbled for the main light switch. Meanwhile, Toby quickly strode to the large windows left of us and drew back the curtains. The mix of natural and artificial light showed an expansive room with a massive fireplace immediately opposite the double doors. Comfortable chairs and sofas were grouped around it. Once glossy magazines and yellowed newspapers, all bearing the fateful month and year, lay scattered upon an ornate coffee table. It was easy imagining the family and/or guests having late afternoon tea or perhaps early evening cocktails as they talked over the day's events. There was a beautiful grand piano and a harp left of the windows. Stacks of music stood on an ebony table set between the two instruments. To the right of the doors someone had placed a long sideboard that also served as a bar. Large, brass pots in the corners were filled with palms and ficus. The plants were long dead. I was horrified to see a free-standing bird cage near the windows, but it was mercifully empty. Large portraits of Collins, undoubtedly, adorned the walls as well. There were two over the fireplace bearing the legends Roger Collins and Elizabeth Collins Stoddard. I knew who they were in relation to the missing David Collins. Other beautiful pieces of furniture and art gave balance to the room. It reminded me of what one might see in a luxurious country home in my native England. The plants and choices of textiles help to soften and even make the large space relatively cozy. It seemed to be a favorite gathering spot for the family.

I stood in the middle of the room and waited for the prickling sensation to appear. It did not. I turned toward the windows and discovered Toby watching me.

"You don't feel anything, do you?" he said.

I quickly shook my head.

'Describe to me what you felt the first time." he continued, as he slowly walked the circumference of the room.

The words tumbled from my lips. "I felt oppressed. I felt darkness crushing down on me. Surrounding me. And – and it was so very, very silent. But – but the silence was _alive_! Does that make sense?", I asked as I crossed to the windows and once again concealed them with the curtains. The lack of sunlight made the room less cheery. Toby grimaced as he reached the double doors.

"It's difficult to tell. Was your subconscious picking up signals from another plane or dimension? An unexpected and unusual connection with an invisible world that we cannot see with our human eyes? This house is over two hundred years old, Constance. We don't know everything that may have taken place inside its walls: murder, madness, jealousy, revenge - the last residents vanished into thin air!" he exclaimed. "Or was it only your imagination playing tricks on you?"

"So, I could have just imagined it?" I said slowly. I shook my head.

"No. I don't think so. Maybe I may not understand what it was, but something was in that room. It's not there now, and I hope it never comes back! But, thanks for not calling me crazy!" I chuckled weakly.

On the drive back to Collinsport, I began to regret telling Toby about my experience. What if he told the others? It was bad enough that Veronica may be sharing tidbits of my life; I didn't want to join her. I was relieved that as Toby was getting out of the car, he stopped and gravely said, "Constance, I promise not to divulge what you have shared with me today. Not even to Honey – unless you say otherwise. I will, however, be free with my woe concerning the deplorable condition of the textiles in the West wing to any who will listen to me. I give you my solemn word as a scholar and a gentleman." He extended his hand.

I couldn't help but laugh, as we shook on it.

(This writing has nothing to do with Dan Curtis or Dan Curtis Productions. This is just the vivid imagination of a small town girl.)


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

I began to call Randall Garner, Jeremy Haskell and Toby Stokes my "Three Wise Men." I cannot imagine where I would be without them. Stark raving bonkers is _what_ I would be without them! Then Mr. Garner was called away to Florida for several weeks to help with a client's tricky situation, and he left me in Elliott's charge. Elliott believed in taking field trips to the estate and seeing first hand the work being done. He also believed strongly in working lunches, and we shared many a meal at the Blue Whale, or even the inn, to discuss invoices, write checks, andtackle all the minutiae associated with the improvements. Sometimes, Toby and Honey joined us. But mostly, it was just the two of us and a mountain of paperwork. It was during one of these lunches that Elliott talked me into building a garage for the cottage.

"Here – look at this design," he said, as he unfurled an architect's blueprints on the table and anchored it with the napkin holder and a bottle of ketchup. We had just finished a late lunch at The Blue Whale, and practically had the whole place to ourselves. A few workers from the cannery, fresh off their shift, were nursing beers at the bar, while the lone waitress finished washing down all the tables and booths in preparation for the evening crowd.

"See," he continued. "You have already cleared this space in the back. If you just widen it more to the left here, you could have your own garage instead of leaving your car out. The winters here are harsh. It's too bad that an attached garage won't work, but at least you wouldn't have to scrape ice or dig your car out of the snow."

"I hadn't really thought about it," I replied. "A two-car garage would also solve the problem of more storage space as well. The cellar and attic are not very large, and with this I won't need to build a shed," I mused.

"Exactly," he nodded in agreement. "Plus, this design compliments the current structure. The same materials can be used in its construction. It could probably even be 'weathered' so it looks like it has been there forever."

I glanced from the blueprint to his face which was inches from my own, and I felt the breath catch in my throat. I was in love with Elliott Spencer. I don't know when it happened or how it happened, but **,** in that instant, I knew it was so. And he already had a girlfriend. The revelation jerked me back in my seat, and I knocked over the napkin holder, scattering the flimsy, paper squares all over the floor. As we both scrambled to pick them up, I fought to compose myself. This would not do. I felt my face flush and hoped that Elliott wouldn't notice. He didn't. He stuffed the now wrinkled napkins back in their proper place and continued talking about slate roofing tiles and copper gutters, while my mind and emotions whirled.

I was drowning in my own thoughts when I realized he was talking to me.

"Are you okay?" he said anxiously. "I said your name three times, Constance."

I passed a hand over my forehead.

"I am so sorry, Elliott. I didn't sleep well last night, and it - it must be catching up with me," I fibbed.

"You should have said something," he said, concern in his voice. "Let me roll this up, and I'll walk you back to the inn."

"That's okay!" I blurted out. "I'll be fine. I know you have a lot to do back at the office. I promise not to fall asleep crossing the street," I said smiling.

He chuckled and replied, "Thank you! Randall would never forgive me. Okay, then, I will let the architect know of your interest and we'll take it from there."

"Thank you, Elliott, for everything. Thank you again for lunch, too. I guess I will see you on Friday then? At The Old House?" I asked, hopefully sounding nonchalant.

"I can't, Constance. Hannah will be in Bangor, just for the weekend, and I already arranged the time off. We can plan to go out there next week if that works for you?" he countered.

"Absolutely!" I nodded and smiled. My face began to hurt. "Have fun!" I called over my shoulder as I headed out the door. He waved and resumed rolling up the blueprint. Naturally, I spent the rest of the afternoon crying in my room.

When I woke the next morning, I didn't feel like doing anything. The sky was a traitorous blue, instead of being sullen and grey like my mood. Sighing is for prisoners. I knew it was a waste of time and energy to lie there feeling sorry for myself. Elliott was taken. I would just have to get over it. Fortunately, I had nothing pressing to do that day. I wasn't feeling very sociable, so I decided to visit Eagle Hill Cemetery. After a brisk shower, my wet hair up in a messy bun, I raided the inn's kitchen for breakfast and lunch to take with me. Guy greeted me in his usual cheery manner from the front desk as I left. I carefully backed the Mini Cooper out of the parking lot and decided at the last minute to take the way out of Collinsport that Elliott had shown me previously. Many people were out on the beach, and the slight breeze carried children's muted shouts of delight along with the gentler murmur of the waves. Aquatic birds soared and uttered their strange cries, as I continued along the coast road. I passed The House by the Sea but did not see Michael's cherry red sports car out front. I shifted gears and slowed down. Soon I saw the entrance to the cemetery and turned down the smooth drive. I carefully followed the curving way until I had reached the oldest section that spilled onto the Collinwood property. Parking the car, I retrieved my basket of sustenance, and began walking towards the mausoleum thatI could see off in the distance. The whine of wood saws and the sharp staccato of hammers from the construction teams working on The Old House could barely be heard here.

The years of neglect had been eradicated by the knowledgeable work crews. Instead of thigh high weeds and grass, the shorn vegetation made it possible for me to move freely amongst the tombstones. Gone were the aggravating thorns and thistles. Many of the ancient trees were so large that whole sections of burial plots were shrouded in cooling shade with patches of sunlight here and there. I sat in one of those patches as I broke my fast with coffee and nubby oatmeal cookies full of chewy raisins. Since I had to pack my own basket, it was not the customary feast usually provided by Mrs. Fillmore. Apples and water would have to do for lunch, should I linger. It was very peaceful here. I wondered about all the untold stories and unfulfilled dreams of those who lay sleeping all around me. Heartache and heartbreak were no strangers here. Some had even cried, just like myself, over another. My thoughts were becoming morbid. Life is not all tragedy. Surely, many buried here had led fruitful, fulfilling lives. They had worked, dreamed, prayed…had loved and been loved.

Brushing the crumbs from my jeans, I stood up and began reading the surrounding tombstones. Mixed in amongst my ancestors were other families from Collinsport. The oldest ones dating from the 17th century, were so badly damaged from the passage of time and lichen, that reading them was an impossibility. Those from the 18th and successive centuries, were in much better shape. I located my namesake, Abigail, as well as other family members from that time, such asJosette and Jeremiah. The Collins had spared no expense in having these markers expertly and deeply cut. It was curious how the styles changed from era to era. Those at the beginning were merely raised flat stones bearing winged skulls or an urn and willow design, but as the years progressed the flat stones gave way to three dimensional shapes in an astonishing array of variety and materials. With my hands, I felt the smoothness of marble and granite as my fingers traced cherubs, lambs, leaves, flowers, or whatever fancy had been requested to adorn the monument. I spoke out loud the names, dates, scraps of poetry and Scripture that had been ascribed to memorialize the dearly departed. Men lost at sea. Whole families wiped out by disease. Soldiers of the Revolution. Children. So many children! One little section appeared to be only babies. Most had not survived their first week of life. The last stone was dated 1900.

I began to head back to the car stopping here and there as a name or particularly interesting marker caught my attention. I discovered the graves of Carl Collins, Jenny Collins, Minerva Trask, Judith Collins Trask, Edward Collins, Beth Chavez…her marker was exquisite. A bust of a woman, slightly worn by the ravages of time and weather, conveyed a sense of wistfulness. The simple base bore only one word below her name and death date of 1897:

FAITHFUL

Who was she? Someone must have cared for her very much to have such an expensive stone commissioned. I had not seen any other like it.

Reaching the car, I noticed a grouping of stones to my right. There was something familiar about the names. "Chuck Hanley" and "Joanna Hanley" were etched on the larger stone. Beside it was a smaller marker bearing the name **"** Robert Shaw. **"** Then I remembered. This must be Allison's parents and husband. The ground had not completely settled over Bobby's grave. Only six or seven months had passed since his untimely death. The slow sound of an approaching car broke my reverie. Others coming to visit someone they had lost.

Driving off, I decided to be spontaneous and also visit Widow's Hill. Locating a suitable place to park was more difficult, but I finally managed to find one. I munched an apple as I made my way through the brush closer to the edge of the cliff. Not too close though. From a much safer distance, I looked out across the ocean. The sunlight striking that vastness caused the color to shift. Depending on the weather, the water could look blue, or green, or grey. Today was a blue day. I thought about the ghost story Toby had shared at the clambake. I couldn't imagine wanting to jump off that cliff onto the craggy rocks below. Then I remembered Bobby Shaw. Which was worse? Knowing or not knowing?

Shuddering, I turned away. I was hot, so I headed to the thickly growing trees to find relief in their coolness. Most of these were quite large, and obviously very old. Something white flashed through the sea of green. The ground slowly descended as I continued onward. I hummed a song I remembered from childhood about exploring and adventure. I don't know how long I had been walking when I suddenly came upon a grove of slim, white birches growing in a perfect circle. There were six in all, and by my rough estimation, perhaps three feet between one tree to the next. Looking up I was surprised to see how far down I was from the road. Perhaps the grove would be noticeable in the winter when the trees were leafless, but at the height of summer it was completely hidden. I was enchanted. It was cooler and windier here, and I realized I could hear the waves and smell the salt of theocean. Pushing past the birches, I soon reached the large boulders that are the bones of the cliff. Scrambling up a low one, I shielded my eyes and looked up. To my right, I could barely see where the House by the Sea jutted out. I calculated that I was somewhere halfway between the house and Widow's Hill.

Carefully sliding off the rock, I walked back to the circle of trees. The bark was papery under my hand as I slipped through into the clearing. Suddenly, the same presence I had felt when I first entered the drawing room at Collinwood was there in the grove! The blood rushed to my head, and black spots danced before my eyes as I struggled to breathe and not pass out. That horrible, living silence! That same heavy weight – I lurched and lunged to escape. I fell to my knees and crawled – crawled out to life and light and safety. Something sliced into my palm, causing me to scream with pain. I grasped it as I staggered to my feet and ran. Branches clawed and scratched me as I flew past them. I was hysterically crying and gasping for air; my heart beating wildly as I again ascended to the same level as the road. I fell once more when I reached my car, scraping my face and hands. I moaned and lay like a dead woman.

When I came to, the sun was much lower in the sky. How long had I been out? I carefully rose to my feet. My head swam nauseatingly, and I grabbed the car to keep me steady. That's when I realized I had something in my hand. I opened my cramped right hand and there lay a fragment of an earthenware pot which had given me a nasty gash. Pot? Bowl? Votive? What was it doing there? The sight of it triggered the memory of an article I had read where archeologists in Egypt had discovered, under the sand, thousands of broken pottery bowls used for offerings at an ancient cemetery. Slowly I made my way to the driver's side. It had taken some time to get used to driving on the other side of the road since coming to America. I still caught myself trying to enter on the passenger side occasionally. I rested my head on the cool steering wheel and debated whether I should call for assistance or just try to make it back on my own. I opted for the latter. First, I assessed my damage. My whole body ached. I wondered if I had a concussion because of how my head felt. Both the knees of my jeans were torn out leaving my knees bruised and bloodied. I looked in the rearview mirror. My hair had come loose and swirled around my head like Medusa's snakes. My tears, dust, and blood from the scrapes and scratches had made my face a terrifying mask. I gingerly touched my nose and checked my teeth. Thank God, nothing was broken. My hands were much like my face. The palm would most likely require stitches, and my nails were broken and filthy from my falls.

I drank a whole bottle of water, and then used the other bottle to clumsily clean my wounds, using paper napkins I had stashed in the glove compartment. It made my face only look worse and caused the many wounds to sting. My right hand began to throb and I knew it was not going to be easy driving. I gritted my teeth and threw the Mini Cooper into first gear as I made my way back to the inn.

I wanted to avoid the other lodgers and had parked behind the inn. Valerie screamed and made the sign of the cross when she saw me coming in through the back entrance. She quickly had me seated at the table before she called out to Mrs. Fillmore at the front desk. Guy had come in from the dining room but immediately turned around and fled. He does not like the sight of blood. I heard Mrs. Fillmore telling him to take over for her, as she made her way into the kitchen.

"Miss Collins! Miss Collins! What happened?!…Valerie! Get the first aid kit!" she loudly cried, as she rushed to my side.

"I was exploring on Widow's Hill and I misjudged a step and took a tumble, that's all. Nothing's broken. It just looks worse than what it is." I hurriedly explained.

Dusty entered at that moment.

"Whoa!" he said.

"Whoa, indeed!" said his Nan. "Dusty, call Dr. Bell and see if he is able to come 'round. Tell him he may have to do some sewing." she finished as she brought a warm, wet flannel and began gently to clean my face.

Valerie had pulled out the first aid kit from one of the storage cabinets and rummaging through she pulled out some aspirins, which Mrs. Fillmore instructed I was to have two with a glass of water.

"And call me in the morning!" I weakly joked.

Mrs. Fillmore had me strip down in her bedroom which was off the kitchen. She loaned me one of her cotton bathrobes so the doctor would be able to take a look at my knees. While we waited for him, she again cleaned every thing with water and applied antiseptic. It stung. A lot.

When it was all said and done, Dr. Bell did have to do some sewing. Fifteen stitches were needed to close the gash in my palm. I hate needles. I had already endured a series of shots earlier in the year for my excursion to Egypt. Thanks to those, I dodged the bullet of having to get another tetanus shot. I had many glorious bruises and had also sprained my left wrist. Most of the skin on my palms and knees had been scraped off, as well as the skin on the tip of my nose, chin and forehead. Good thing I'm not too vain. I looked awful. Mrs. Fillmore and Valerie made sure I was as neat and tidy as possible under the circumstances, including my poor hair, before they let me go upstairs.

I was exhausted. Dusty helped me to my room. Valerie followed us with a heavy- laden tray. When they had left, I changed into a nightshirt and got into bed, pulling the tray carefully to me. There was beef stew with barley, accompanied by several sourdough rolls, and a slice of tart apple pie with a junk of cheddar cheese on top. I ate every crumb. Afterwards, I placed the tray on the desk, brushed my teeth, and then, thank God, I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

(This writing has nothing to do with Dan Curtis or Dan Curtis Productions. This is just the vivid imagination of a small town girl.)


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

For a full week, I lived like a recluse. Completely knackered from the emotional and physical trauma, I spent the first two days in bed sleeping most of the time. Trays were brought up to my room, and Mrs. Fillmore outdid herself in making sure I didn't go hungry. The third day I was going barmy with cabin fever, but since I resembled a partial mummy with all the gauze and bandages, I limited my public appearances to only the kitchen. Plus, with the stitches in one hand and bandages on the other, bathing was a problem. My hair became lank, and I was over zealous with perfume.

Elliott called when he had returned from Bangor on Monday. I explained to him what had happened and postponed our lunch meeting for that day.

"The doctor says the stitches should be okay to take out on Thursday. I can swing by your office on Friday and we can go over…" I started to say.

"Constance, I can just as easily _swing_ by the inn today with everything," he interrupted.

"Please, Elliott! I look a fright, and I am just not the best company at the moment. Is there anything pressing that won't wait until Friday?" I asked.

"No, I guess not…" he began.

"Good! I'll see you on Friday then. Thanks for calling. Goodbye!" I quickly disconnected.

I felt guilty for cutting him off. Later that afternoon, a very large bouquet in a crystal vase from Hanley's Flowers arrived for me. I had never received flowers before. The envelope was made out to "Constant Collins". I laughed at the misspelling and drew out the card which read "Get Well Soon" from…Garner and Garner. I was a little disappointed. The flowers were gorgeous though. They were all peonies: blush pink, creamy white, raspberry red. The heavy blossoms gave off a sweet and heady scent. Peonies are my favorite. The firm must have discovered that while they were vetting me as a potential heir.

It was almost ten o'clock that evening when I heard a light tapping at my door. I unlocked it, and there stood Honey holding what appeared to be a bulky and heavy tote. I'm not sure who was more surprised.

"Constance! You look…you look…" she stammered.

"Terrifying! What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Oh! Toby and I ran into Elliott at The Blue Whale during lunch, and he told us what happened. Though I didn't imagine you would look so – so …" she trailed off.

"Terrifying!" I laughed. "Please come in," I said as I opened the door wider for her to enter.

She walked over to the bed and uploaded the tote, causing a cascade of books to tumble out. Some landed on the floor. I stepped over and picked one up. I was not familiar with the author.

"You look like a reader to me," Honey began. "And Toby mentioned you are interested in Egypt, so I thought you might enjoy this series while you are convalescing. They're Amelia Peabody mysteries. I hope you like them," she finished with a smile.

"Thank you so much! These are great! They will certainly help pass the time. I honestly can't remember the last time I actually did some recreational reading. I've been so busy with the estate…" my voice trailed off.

"Oh! I have a favor to ask of you, too," Honey said. "I am planning a little surprise baby shower for Allison at my place, and, well…so far there's only me," she finished sheepishly.

Flowers and a prospective baby shower all in one day – I had never been to a baby shower. This day was full of all kinds of new experiences.

"When? Do you need help with anything? What may I bring? I'd be delighted to come!" I said grinning.

Honey's voice showed her relief. "It's this Sunday at 2:00pm. It'll just be the three of us. I invited Hannah and Veronica, but neither one of them can make it. I don't have any of Allison's in-laws' numbers, so that just leaves…us. I'm so glad you can come! I've got everything covered. Just bring yourself and something for the baby. It's a boy, but you already knew that. Here, let me write down my address and phone number for you." She found some foolscap on my desk, and carefully wrote down the information in a bold hand.

"I better get going. I promised to meet Toby for a movie when I got off work, and I don't want to be late. I hope you feel better soon, and I will see you on Sunday, "she said, as she gave me a quick hug goodbye.

"Thank you again, Honey, for the books and the invite. They are both much, much appreciated!" I replied as I hugged her back.

After she left, I went downstairs to make a pot of tea and raid the tin of chocolate biscuits that Mrs. Fillmore kept in the cupboard just for me. Valerie was manning the front desk that evening and kindly carried the tray upstairs for me. I was not used to being so dependent on others, but I was glad that no one at the inn seemed to mind helping me out when I needed it. I spent the rest of the night reading about the charming, fictional exploits of a Victorian Era, parasol -wielding fellow Brit, who apparently loved Egypt as much as I did.

I had not forgotten what happened in the grove.

At times, in my dreams, I was once again walking towards that innocent circle of birch. I could hear the rustle of the grass as I passed through, the snap of a twig beneath my feet, the wind sighing over the trees – and then all sound cut off as cleanly as if by a razor- sharp knife, as I stepped in between those slender trunks…

I always woke with a disoriented start, and then lay trembling until dawn, too terrified to fall back asleep. I needed to talk to Toby.

When I walked to Dr. Bell's office early Thursday morning, I was intensely relieved that, due to my carefully following all his instructions, the stitches could be removed right then. The painful bruises that had started out as rich hues of indigo and magenta, were now fading away to sickly yellows. Even the sprain was declared practically healed, and the attending nurse gave me a few exercises to do at home, morning and evening, for the next two weeks. I still had to wear the bandage, but it would not impede me from driving once again. The scabbing on my face, hands, and knees, though unattractive, was much more desirable than the thick gauze and tape. Dr. Bell felt confident that there would be no permanent scarring.

I caught myself skipping from his office I was so happy. I immediately went back to the inn to tell everyone the good news, and then had a spa day in my bathroom. It felt simply luxurious to have clean, sweet smelling hair once again and to be, in essence, scrubbed from head to toe. It also wore me out. I catnapped until noon. Waking up, I decided to wear something jolly. I had been wearing loose and comfy sweats and jammies during my recovery. Now, I opted for a sleeveless, tangerine cotton maxi dress with flat, gold sandals. Leaving my hair loose, I switched from my crossover bag, to a summery rattan tote. Thin gold hoops, and several thin gold bangles completed my attire. A few spritzes of my signature scent, and I was ready to face the world once more.

Though I was cleared to drive, I was in desperate need of exercise, so chose to walk instead to the Collinsport museum. Once a private residence, the beautiful brick Italianate home now housed a variety of local and international artifacts, including, according to the brochure, some fine portraits and landscapes by Charles Delaware Tate. Tourism helped Collinsport thrive, so it was not surprising to see quite a few people milling about the museum on a weekday. Soon, most of these summer guests would be leaving, though some might linger to enjoy the autumn foliage. One of the very cordial guides escorted me to the lift that would take me to the business offices located on the third floor. I was soon enclosed in a gilded cage heading upwards. Toby was not there. Disappointed, I went back downstairs, and speaking to another guide, I learned that Toby was away in Rockport at an estate sale. He was not expected back until the following afternoon.

I solaced myself with a mocha frappe with extra whipped cream from a little café adjacent to the museum. Not ready to go back to the inn, I continued strolling in the opposite direction until I realized I was standing outside Allison's flower shop. It had originally been a cottage, but the entire ground floor had been made into the business, with the family living in tight quarters on the second floor. The cottage had been painted a brilliant shade of pink, which may have been more suited for a sweets shop, but somehow it worked with the crisp black and white details, and the ornate flowerboxes under each window. The jangle of a bell sounded as I entered into the cool recesses. Again, everything was neat and orderly with the same vivid pink on the walls, somehow mellowed by the profusion of color from the flowers and plants that filled the space. A long, wooden counter painted a glossy black stood about midpoint, with double refrigerated cases behind holding cut flowers and fillers. A door left of these, most likely led to the workroom where there would be plenty space to arrange flowers. To the right of the cases was an opening showing stairs leading to the living quarters. A makeshift stanchion carried the warning DO NOT ENTER in fancy calligraphy. The staircase was painted white.

Allison appeared from the back in the seconds it took for me to look around the shop from the door. Now more than halfway thru her third trimester, she finally looked pregnant with even an extra fullness in her face and arms. She positively glowed. Motherhood certainly agreed with her now.

"Constance! Hi! Oh, my – Honey told me all about your accident. How are you?" she said from behind the counter. Her child-like voice always took me by surprise.

"Much better, thank you. I love your shop! Has it always been this color?" I asked.

Allison made a face. "No, my parents weren't interested in things like that. They weren't really cut out to have a business. They were always struggling to pay bills and keep the shop afloat. Growing up, I hated always having to wear someone else's hand me downs. We hardly ever had anything new. I hate being poor, but that will soon change. I have big plans for this place, Constance."

"Oh? What kind of plans?" I asked, encouragingly.

Her face became animated as she shared her vision with me. "I hope to expand to a full-blown nursery, with trees, shrubs, plants, bulbs, seed, tools – you name it! Most people don't realize it, but the store rests on almost four acres. The property is long and narrow and has never been utilized. My parents often talked about selling it, but it never happened." She paused before she continued. "You know, if you happen to be looking for a place to invest some of your millions…"

Her comment took me completely off guard, and I stammered and stalled as I tried to think of a reply.

"I'm just joking, Constance!" she laughed, but there was a note of bitterness that could not be ignored.

An uncomfortable cloud now hung between us, and my mind frantically tried to think of something to say.

"I – um, - I guess…" I started, but she interrupted me.

"Thanks for stopping by Constance. I would give you the tour, but I need to finish a wedding arrangement for Saturday." Her tone was completely neutral.

"Oh! Sure. I guess, I'll see you – around!" I said as I waved and left. I had almost let the cat out of the bag about the surprise shower.

The next day, I was understandably nervous about going to Garner and Garner. Randall had returned sometime during the past week, but he insisted that Elliott continue working with me. I felt unnaturally stiff and awkward, when I was alone with Elliott in his office, but he did not seem to notice. I also purposefully timed the meeting for the first of the morning, so there would not be an opportunity for a work lunch. He was concerned about my accident, and after I thanked him for the beautiful peonies, and assured him of how I was almost fully mended, I politely inquired about his weekend in Bangor.

"It was great! But always too short. I have only seen Hannah twice now since she has been working on this merger. Long distance relationships are tough!" he said.

"I bet," I replied.

"With the time differences and the amount of work she is doing, even phone calls are rare," he continued. "But it's all good. If all goes well overseas, she'll be back early spring. Now, enough boring you with my love life, Constance, let me catch you up instead on the progress of your new garage."

After I left Garner and Garner, I drove over to the cannery for an impromptu visit with Mr. Haskell but was told he had gone out on one of the boats to visit some of the lobster traps and would not be returning for several hours. My watch informed me that Toby was also not available yet, so I decided to shop for Allison's shower gifts. Though I was rather put off by Allison's constant remarks about "my money," I did my best to put myself in her shoes and not hold her rudeness against her.

Thanks to the invaluable information about babies from Mrs. Fillmore and Valerie, I was able to wade through the plethora of paraphernalia associated with newborns and confidently purchased what was truly needed. I had so much fun buying onesies, nappies, bottles, socks, blankets, sleepers, bibs, rattles, teething rings, tiny outfits, burping towels, bath toys, a bathtub, a collapsible playpen, a stroller, a car seat – I finally stopped when I caught myself pricing cribs, only after I purchased a plush moose the size of a full- grown St. Bernard. Collins General Store and Brewster's and agreed to deliver everything to the inn later that day.

Now that the gifts had been purchased, I went to The Blue Whale and ordered fish and chips to go. Along with a large lemonade, I took my lunch down to the shipyard and watched the various craftsmen going about their labors. It fascinates me how boats float and airplanes fly. After another pleasant hour had lazily passed, I decided to drive over to the museum to see if Toby had finally returned. He had. The staff that were not giving tours were busy unloading a rental truck, while Toby checked items off a clipboard.

"Constance! Hello! I am glad to see your injuries are healing up nicely. I wish I could stop and chat, but I just returned with some marvelous acquisitions and must oversee their placement. I am also unavailable this evening, but perhaps tomorrow? Good. Tomorrow it is. I should be free any time after 4:00p.m. I shall call you then."

I felt deflated. I did not realize how much I was counting on my talk with Toby to perhaps release some of the anxiety I was carrying. Now I would have to wait another whole day. I headed back to the inn, and, thankfully, my purchases had just arrived. I spent the rest of the day and most of the evening wrapping and bagging the many gifts, finishing with a large, baby blue satin ribbon tied around the plush moose's neck. Afterwards, I got ready for bed, but I couldn't sleep. I tried to lose myself in one of the books Honey left me, but my thoughts were a jumble about my feelings for Elliott, Allison's constant talk of money, the presence in the grove…how could it be the same one I felt in Collinwood? What possible connection could be between the two locations?

Saturday was raining cats and dogs. I stayed in and caught up on all my own personal chores: laundry, mending, ironing and the like. I then helped around the inn; the inclement weather kept many of the tourists inside. I helped in the kitchen, the dining room, and I even manned the front desk so Guy and Valerie could go out for lunch. I returned to my room and was reading when Toby called to ask if it was convenient for me to come over to the museum, since he couldn't get away. I grabbed my keys and headed out into the rain.

(This writing has nothing to do with Dan Curtis or Dan Curtis Productions. This is just the vivid imagination of a small town girl.)


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

The more I talked, the stonier Tobey's face became. We sat in silence, once I finished, the only sound being the slap of the rain on the office window. Toby's chair squeaked as he shifted his weight and shook his head.

"Constance, I am flummoxed on how to counsel you. I am not an expert in the fields of the supernatural or paranormal activity. History, Art – those are my areas of expertise. It is strange that you should encounter the same conditions in the grove as you did in the drawing room. There are many variables, but you seem to be the common denominator. I wonder why?" He looked at me quizzically. "Have you had experiences of this nature when you lived in England?"

"No – never!" I replied.

"I am curious to see this ring of birches. Perhaps next week." His face brightened. "If you would permit, I would be delighted to go through The Old House with you. I've always wanted to peek inside. We could kill two birds with one stone, as they say," he finished with a grin.

I laughed.

"Absolutely! Toby – thank you for listening to me. Just talking out loud with you has made such a difference. It has been awful not being able to tell anyone. I – I feel like a burden has been lifted off my shoulders."

"Glad to help. Honey could help you, too, you know. The library is almost as old as Collinsport. There may be many rich sources of information in the form of diaries, ledgers, old newspapers – I could even look through the museum's archives when I have a moment," he said.

"Those are wonderful ideas, but – " I hesitated.

"I understand. You are not quite ready to bring anyone else into our circle of trust…" he began to say.

"Yes. Maybe once I'm settled into The Cottage …You have already offered to help catalog the contents of Collinwood – you have your own work here at the museum – once the move is complete, I will have more time to do research like you suggested. If I find it too overwhelming, I will gladly have you and Honey help me," I said.

He accepted my proposal with good grace, and I returned to the inn.

The day of the shower was overcast. After church, I loaded up the car with all the gifts, including several packages from Mrs. Fillmore and Valerie. I barely had room in the front to shift gears. The moose was riding shot gun. Honey's cottage was almost the same size as Allison's shop, but instead of pink, it had been painted a taupe color, with bright white trim, and a royal blue door. The crumbling brick library next to it seemed to be held together by the variegated ivy covering most of its walls. I parked behind the closed library and began lugging presents to the back door of the cottage. Honey greeted me, and we became a relay team until my final trip with the enormous plush toy animal. Setting it down beside the rather large pile, I couldn't help noticing the sober look on Honey's face. I quickly realized that her one package, and the three from the inn, seemed rather paltry beside the overindulgence that was my gift. I scooped up the other presents and placed them with all the rest.

"We will say they are from all of us," I declared. "I wasn't meaning to be obnoxious – there was no one there to stop me from going overboard."

Honey grinned and shook her head.

"Well, you certainly aren't stingy! Come on in the kitchen, you can help me finish up before the guest of honor arrives," she said as she waved me ahead of her into a modern, elegant kitchen.

While she finished putting together succulent chicken salad sandwiches, I made up a tray of raw vegetables for dipping. Calypso music made the tasks more festive, and as we worked Honey told me of her island upbringing in Martinique.

"My parents were very young when they had me, barely out of their teens in fact. I don't remember too much. I was three when my Dad heard of a job in Boston that was willing to pay all moving expenses. So, we came to America. I hardly remember the French and Creole my grandmother taught me. My parents only speak English. They are very future-minded people. No interest in the past; even their own. We didn't even go back when my grandmother died. I would like to go visit Martinique. Perhaps I can talk Toby into going with me," she finished with a soft smile.

Just then, the doorbell rang. We quickly wiped our hands and tiptoed to the door, stifling giggles like a couple of naughty nine-year-olds at a sleepover. Honey threw open the door and we both yelled "SURPRISE!" to a very astonished Allison. It was gratifying to see how appreciative she was of Honey's thoughtfulness. We then proceeded to run the shower in an unconventional way: opening of presents first, no games, and then refreshments. Allison cried buckets over all the gifts, and Honey and I were sniffing and dabbing at our wet eyes as well. I cleaned up all the torn and crumbled gift wrap and bows while Honey brought the refreshments out to the back patio. The sun kept trying to peek through the clouds, but there was no threat of rain. Along with the chicken salad and vegetables, Honey had provided artistically decorated petit fours from a local bakery, and a non-alcoholic sangria thick with summer fruit.

By the time I joined the other two outside, they were deep in hot gossip. My pulse quickened when I realized they were discussing Elliott and Hannah. I asked what Hannah was like, while I busied myself filling a plate with goodies.

"She's AMAZING!" gushed Allison. "She's so sophisticated and smart and beautiful! I think her and Elliott make such a cute couple. I'm surprised he hasn't popped the question yet," she finished, as she popped a petit four into her mouth.

Amazing. Sophisticated. Smart. Beautiful.

Well, I could give her a run for her money on smartness. Maybe.

"I've only met her one time," Honey said, as she poured me a glass of sangria. The flavor was tart and intense.

"Her and Michael have always been amazing – even when we were kids. They have such energy and drive," continued Allison. "And look how successful they both are! I've always admired them for that. They know what they want, and they go for it. Nothing can stop them. They're so powerful."

"Powerful?" asked Honey.

"You know what I mean. Everything seems to go their way. I want to be like that," said Allison.

"What about Michael and Veronica?" I asked. "Are they a couple?"

Allison barked her high-pitched laughter while Honey grimaced.

"SHE wants to be – Michael not so much, "answered Honey, with a shake of her corkscrew curls.

"Veronica would love to bag him. They've been together off and on over the last couple of years – I don't think Michael has ever considered their relationship as anything serious. What does she have to offer him?" queried Allison.

"A discount in lawyer fees?" I quipped.

They both found that rather amusing.

The new week brought many changes; the biggest being The Cottage was ready. After my "shopping" trip at Collinwood with Toby, I had had many pieces removed and refurbished for my new home. These had been waiting in storage, along with other essentials I had purchased over the weeks. I hired a substantial truck, and with mounting excitement, headed over to the estate. The movers swiftly unloaded the pieces and placed them where I directed. A rosewood desk and chair now stood under the front room window. Two long couches re-covered in a very English, flowery chintz faced each other before the fireplace, a new glass and metal coffee table helping the arrangement look modern, not stodgy. A simple teak sideboard for extra storage ran along the wall of the staircase, while other comfy chairs and interesting tables in cherry helped make the room an inviting place for company. The entire back wall had been converted into floor to ceiling bookshelves. I had selected a number of floral still life paintings to be hung throughout the rooms. Their gilded frames added a layer of rich luxuriousness, as did the extravagant crystal chandeliers I had hung in my bedroom and the bath. My organizational skills proved themselves once again with the mountain of boxes clearing marked for their destination: kitchen, bedroom, bathroom – it felt like Christmas opening them all up one by one.

Once I was alone, I slowly went through each room and admired my handiwork. The cottage was composed of deep red bricks, and I kept the original integrity of it outside, but inside I had it painted a snowy white. The stone floor had been cleaned and re-glazed, and all the woodwork had been sanded and stained a mellow, golden color. Plush, pretty wool carpets were placed strategically for warmth and comfort. I was unable to salvage any from Collinwood. The walls that were not brick, had been painted the palest blue like the sky at dawn. All the doors had been sanded and painted white and had modern black hardware. The whole place looked and smelled fresh and new.

I quickly unboxed everything for the bedrooms and bathroom upstairs. My room faced the front of the cottage, and I had chosen several richly carved mahogany pieces including a massive armoire that practically took up an entire wall. The bed faced the large windows, so I could watch the sun rise in the mornings. The spare bedroom had a beautiful brass bed and several marble-topped dressers and nightstands. The wood was so old and dark, it appeared black. The restorers had done a marvelous job. I happily hummed and sang as I hung filmy curtains, unfurled brightly colored, soft cotton rugs, and plumped down-filled pillows. It was nice to be able to buy exactly what one wanted. I briefly thought about Allison and her money comments. Maybe I could invest in her business – when I came into my inheritance. If I finished out the three years. I could hardly believe it was just over three months since I received that startling letter. I had been so busy the time seemed much longer.

I was admiring my new turquoise Aga in the kitchen, when I heard a knock at the front door. I couldn't make out who it was through the thick, multi-paned glass of the door, so I was very surprised when I called out and heard Elliott's voice in reply. I hesitated just a tick, because I looked a mess with all my unpacking, then shrugging it off, I threw open the door and invited him in. It was like I invited the sun into my house – Elliott reminds me of how Apollo was imagined, or how the Sweet Psalmist of Israel must have looked – radiant, bright eyes shining, sweet voiced – I was dazzled every time I saw him now. I jealously wondered if that was how Hannah felt.

"Was that you singing?" he asked as he looked around the main room. "I didn't know you sang. You have a nice voice."

I felt my face flush. I am shy about singing around other people.

"The Cottage looks great, Constance! You're probably wondering why I am here. I have some papers for you to sign. Mrs. Fillmore told me you were moving today, and I thought I would just come over. I suppose I should have called – oh, and she sent along a basket – we can have a picnic! I must admit; I miss our lunches," he said smilingly.

How could I refuse? I signed the papers, and after giving Elliott a quick tour, I then went to tidy up a bit and grab a blanket to spread outside. There was spicy fried chicken, fragrant with cumin and cinnamon, and wedges of ice cold juicy watermelon – perfect for a late August lunch. As we sat outside in the bright sunshine, I noticed that the leaves had begun to turn. The wind rustled high up in the trees, and our conversation was punctuated by the soft thuds of acorns and prickly pine cones falling to the ground. Elliott was easy to talk to. He shared stories about his family, including the aunt who made the peach cider, and summers in Collinsport when he was a child. I imagined him tow-headed and tanned from the sun, building sand castles on the beach with the others. I could almost hear their voices. I told him about my fascination with Egypt and my hope to go there some day.

When we finished eating, Elliott admired the new garage, and I sincerely praised him for his wisdom and insight in having it built. I showed him where I planned on having a vegetable and herb garden, and possibly a chicken coop. He promised to teach me how to chop wood and to use a shotgun.

"I know I may look like a fancy, citified lawyer, but I also am quite handy when it comes to 'living off the land'," he said laughingly. "And with you being out here on your own, Constance, you should have some means of protecting yourself."

I beamed with pleasure and looked forward to our lessons.

We were walking back to his car, when I tripped and he caught me before I fell. For an instant, there was a flash of something between us, but Elliott gently loosened his hold on me and said he better get going. As he drove off, I wondered over and over if I had imagined that moment. There had been something in his face that said otherwise. My heart took flight.

After he left, I hurriedly finished setting the kitchen and pantry to rights. I still needed to bring over all my personal belongings from the inn, plus a quick stop to the grocery store for basics. Leaving the inn was heart wrenching. Mrs. Fillmore, Dusty, Guy and Valerie had become family to me. There were many hugs and tears and promises to visit each other soon. Dusty loaded up the Mini Cooper for me and I gave him a gigantic tip that literally made his eyes pop out and I made him promise that he wouldn't tell his Nan. Back at the cottage, I filled the refrigerator with eggs, bacon, milk, heavy cream, orange juice, salad and butter. The large pantry held a single box of cereal, a loaf of bread, olive oil, coffee, tea, sugar and a tin of chocolate biscuits. Enough apples and lemons for an army filled two baskets on the kitchen counter adding instant color. At least I wouldn't starve until I could do a thorough shop. It was almost midnight before I finally tumbled into bed after taking a much-needed shower. I lay there listening to the various creaks as the house settled. The moon looked lovely partially obscured by wisps of silver cloud. I fell asleep and dreamt of Elliott.

The next morning, I overslept. The inn was never quiet since the guests came and went as they pleased. I lazily yawned and stretched before jumping out of bed and padding down to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. I munched on generously buttered wheat toast as I listened to the numerous birds calling back and forth to each other. It was strange to be all alone again. I kept waiting to hear Dusty whistling on the stair, or Valerie gently conversing with Guy about the guest list. After breakfast, I finished hauling the rest of my belongings from the car, then sat at my desk and made lists of what was still needed when everything had been put away. The next several days were busy with shopping, meetings, and phone calls to London. August melted into September. Collinsport was practically a ghost town with the majority of tourists now gone away. I had been too busy to attend the Bangor State Fair or participate in the annual harvest of wild blueberries, but I planned to do both the following year.

Fall is my favorite season, and I relished the crispness of the air and the gorgeous colors of the changing leaves. The estate was a blaze of color punctuated with the dark green of fir and cedar. I finished and returned all the books Honey had loaned me. We had a nice chat at the library, and I reminded myself to make time to research the archives there as well as the museum. Now that The Cottage was finished, and Collinwood and The House by the Sea updated and maintained, I turned my energy towards the interior of The Old House. I remembered that Toby wanted to visit there. I called him and he made arrangements with his staff so he could get away for the day. He also reminded me of his curiosity to visit the circle of birch. The fear induced by Collinwood and the grove had faded, but his reminder caused a tingling to run up and down my spine.

The day of our field trip, Toby showed up with coffee and fresh Danish, still warm from the oven. He exclaimed and complimented me on The Cottage's renovation, though he did not agree about my painting the interior brick. We cheerfully agreed to disagree, and after we consumed all the Danish, I packed a picnic lunch and we walked over to The Old House. Leaves crunched beneath our shoes, while squirrels chattered overhead. I squealed unexpectedly when a fat chipmunk dashed across my foot. Nature was busy preparing itself for winter.

It is amazing what a fresh coat of paint will do for a house. The Old House had come alive with gleaming pillars, sparkling windows which winked at the sky, and every other component revitalized; I was well rewarded by Toby's high praise.

"I am glad to see that you did not paint the brick here!" he said jovially.

I good naturedly stuck my tongue out at him and unlocked the door. The house had been thoroughly dusted and cleaned, but nothing else had been altered. I kept the front doors ajar and opened the windows in the sitting room to let in some fresh air. We decided to start with the top and work our way down to the bottom levels. The attics and servants quarters were a jumble, still dusty and cobwebby, so we decided to pass on those and look through the second floor instead. I had only given some of the rooms a cursory glance the last time I had been there. Toby was enjoying himself immensely and kept up a running commentary on the history of some of the more unique pieces we came across. Then we came to a beautiful room done up in shades of green. A portrait of a young woman, clothed in a simple white dress of the 18th century hung prominently over the fireplace mantle. Toby looked like someone in a trance as he slowly walked across the room and stood before it.

"It's her!" he croaked. "It's her! It has to be!" he said again, and his voice trembled with emotion.

"Who? Who is she?" I asked.

He turned to me, and said in an awed voice, "Josette Collins."

"Oh!" I said. "I've seen her grave in the cemetery. Wasn't she married to Jeremiah Collins? I think I remember reading that – there were so many names and dates – I can't keep them all straight," I continued, as I stepped closer and peered at the calm face framed in chestnut curls.

"Yes. She was married to Jeremiah Collins, BUT she was supposed to marry Barnabas Collins. That's a mystery I have wondered about since I first heard their story. Quite tragic. The Bard could not have written one better. Though I suppose Romeo and Juliet come close…" he conceded.

"Tell me," I said.

"I know Josette came from Martinique, same as my fair love, Honey. I am positive that in essence it was an arranged marriage between Joshua Collins and Andre DuPres. That's just how it was done in those days, more a business proposition than a romantic one. Uniting wealth, lands, titles in marriage that benefitted all parties involved. But there must have been mutual attraction and affection between the two young people because of what happened. The DuPres' came and resided here with The Collins family until the wedding. Andre's sister, Countess Natalie DuPres, and her personal maid Angelique Bouchard also came with them. Now, the night the two were to become one, Josette up and eloped with Barnabas' uncle, Jeremiah! Now, apparently Jeremiah and Barnabas were more like brothers than uncle and nephew, so you can imagine the shock and betrayal Barnabas must have felt," he said.

I shook my head. "How awful!" I replied.

"Barnabas challenges Jeremiah to a duel with pistols. Jeremiah ends up severely injured and dies not long after. So, now Josette is a widow, and Barnabas goes and marries the maid, Angelique! Then, Angelique simply disappears from the Collins family history and Barnabas leaves for England, never to return," finished Toby.

"What happened to Josette?" I asked.

"She killed herself. She jumped to her death from Widow's Hill."

(This writing has nothing to do with Dan Curtis or Dan Curtis Productions. This is just the vivid imagination of a small town girl.)


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

"What a horrible story!" I cried.

Toby nodded his head in agreement. "Poor girl! They say her spirit still haunts this place. If you happen to see her…" he finished half seriously.

"Toby! Let's go look at the rest of the house. I wonder which room belonged to Abigail," I said, as we closed the door behind us.

Most of the rooms were of such a general appearance, that we could not be sure who had resided where. Joshua and Naomi's was a considerably larger suite and so easier to identify. I would have to find records to decipher who was who in the various portraits. That would help immensely.

"And they all moved into Collinwood after Barnabas' marriage. Except for Barnabas and his new bride, naturally. He became the master of this place. You may find more information about Abigail over there than here," said Toby encouragingly.

The first floor yielded another surprise that neither of us had noticed when we first entered. A portrait of a young man, hanging above the fireplace mantel, which looked exactly like the portrait of Barnabas Collins at Collinwood. Except for the style of clothing, the two looked unmistakably like the same person.

"How in the world did I miss that the first time I came here? The suit is modern, but that's the same ring, cane and face," I said perplexed.

"That must be the second Barnabas Collins. He doesn't look very amiable, does he? Much sterner than the first Barnabas Collins," Toby said, studying the visage intently.

"Why, he could be his identical twin. That's uncanny, even for a direct descendant," I said.

"I wonder what happened to him? Your family certainly overflows with mystery, Constance!" Toby chuckled, as he entered the dining room.

That room, plus the kitchen and larder were all very large and commodious. I told Toby of my desire to keep the dwelling consistent with the time it had been built but reminded him I would appreciate having a modern kitchen and bathroom. How could I accomplish both without compromising?

"How about a separate addition that houses those two aspects? You could have running water, electricity – without damaging this marvelous domicile. Constance, The Old House would make a wonderful living museum. What do you think?" he asked.

"That's out of my hands for at least three years," I replied. "But I certainly see what you mean. I'll keep it in mind," I said as we then descended into the bowels of the house.

Toby was fascinated by the mammoth cellars, including the heavy, iron door that led to them.

"Odd choice that. Perhaps they wanted to keep the servants out of the sherry!" he chortled, as we stood once more in the sitting room.

Then his voice became somber.

"I do not recollect if you have had any unnatural experiences in this place," he asked.

"No. Just a sneezing fit from all the dust. The Cottage had the same feeling as here; just a normal sense of emptiness – nothing malevolent," I responded.

Locking up the house, we decided to have our lunch on the veranda and then tour the grounds. I had been reading a delightful book titled _Rascal_ , and had brought crisp bacon sandwiches, ripe peaches and bottles of fizzy drink for our excursion. There was not a pet raccoon begging for our food, but a waddling groundhog did look our way as it rooted through the waving grass for something tasty. We discussed sites for the addition. I was delighted to discover on our ramble a stone chapel, stables, a dairy – so many buildings that had made up this original estate. Most of these had fallen in disrepair over the decades, but I felt confident they could be restored, especially the chapel and stables. There were stables at Collinwood as well. Perhaps I would take up horseback riding.

I was feeling rather sleepy as we walked to Widow's Hill. We did not see anyone as we stopped to admire the ocean. The wind played with our hair, and the waves could be heard busily dashing and smashing against the rocks that huddled at the base of the cliff. As I led the way to the birches, my senses were on hyper alert; all sleepiness had vanished. Soon they came into sight, and I kept my distance as Toby went forward to scrutinize the area. My body automatically tensed when I saw him motion for me to come where he stood. Unclenching my hands and jaw, I reluctantly edged closer. When I reached him, he then turned sideways and walked into the middle of the trees. I watched as he walked the circumference. He did this twice, stopping once again in the very center. We were silent, but all around us could be heard the fluttering of falling leaves and the much louder crash of the water. Finally, he emerged.

"I don't sense anything," he said. "Do you wish to go in, Constance, while I am with you?"

"No, thank you," I said emphatically.

"Very well." Toby looked up at the sky. "It's getting late. Let's head back before it gets dark."

Gladly. The last place I wanted to be after dark was this place.

Upon entering The Cottage, I was completely taken aback by shouts of ''Happy Birthday!" and "Surprise!" from at least a dozen people who were grouped by the bookcases. Toby grinned from ear to ear as he whooped to the crowd, "I told you I could keep her occupied all day!"

My mouth was hanging open like a codfish. I had completely forgotten it was my birthday. Soon I was engulfed in hugs and well wishes. Mrs. Fillmore was there and Valerie, Mr. Garner and Jeremy Haskell along with their wives, and all the gang from The Blue Whale. I noticed that Michael was back from his latest trip, but I wasn't thrilled that he brought Veronica with him. I still didn't trust her, and I certainly didn't feel comfortable knowing that she was in my house. Elliott's laughing face banished all thoughts of Veronica, as he came over and put his arm around me.

"I hope you don't mind, Constance. It was my idea to celebrate your birthday – it's not every day you turn 25!" he said.

Allison gave a squeaky groan. "Remember when we turned 25? Now we're all pushing 30!"

Honey chimed in, "And I decided that it could double as a house warming party, too. You have done an amazing job, Constance. The Cottage is beautiful."

I found out through the course of the evening, that pretty much everyone present had been conspiring behind my back. I was extremely touched by their expressions of love and friendship. Mrs. Fillmore and Valerie had outdone themselves with making large trays of creamy lobster mac-n-cheese, fried clams, spicy horseradish coleslaw, and some of the most toothsome blueberry fry pies I have ever eaten. Honoring that I kept a dry house, there were silver pitchers of lemonade, iced tea, fresh apple cider, and water. Conversation was bright and lively. Since the evenings were getting chillier, someone started a roaring fire in the fireplace. It definitely added some cozy ambience. People toured the cottage and the grounds around it. I was having a very nice time but became embarrassed when Honey had me plop down on one of the Chintz couches to open birthday presents. There were lovely cards from Miss Jacky, Mr. Breck, The Garners and The Haskells. Dusty, who had returned to New Hampshire the previous week, had joined with Mrs. Fillmore in buying me a Union Jack and the Stars and Stripes to fly in front of The Cottage. Guy, who had to stay behind at the inn, would be coming out in a few days to plant peonies by the front door. Toby and Honey had given me a beautifully framed reproduction of Queen Ankhsenamon by Winifred Brunton, Valerie had crocheted me a gorgeous afghan throw of brightly colored flowers on a black background, and Allison gave me a box full of spring bulbs ready for planting.

Then Elliott presented his gift.

"I'm not partial to what I am about to give you, but I hope you like it," he said mysteriously as he motioned to Michael who was standing near the kitchen door.

Michael nodded, and having gone in, soon came back carrying the squirmiest, furriest cat I have ever seen. Its coat was a brown tabby pattern with fern green eyes, and when he placed it in my lap I was instantly smitten with the kitten. For that is what it was even though it appeared to be a full- grown cat.

"Maine Coons are one of the largest cat breeds in the world. There is scientific evidence that it possibly may be related to the Norwegian forest cat. So, the theory may be actual fact that the first coon cats came here via Viking ships," schooled Toby.

"It's our state cat," remarked Mrs. Garner.

"He will be good company for you, and they are excellent mousers," said Elliott.

"Guy was out earlier, and he has already created the cutest cat door in your back entrance," cooed Valerie, as she scratched under the kitten's chin. It immediately purred loudly.

Soon, everyone was sharing cat stories, with a smattering of dog ones as well.

"What will you call him?" asked Allison.

"Cadbury, after my favorite chocolate, "I replied.

Everyone got a good chuckle out of that.

The night wore on, and soon people began drifting homeward. I was heading upstairs with the print from Toby and Honey, when I became aware of low voices coming from the guest bedroom. I stopped on the staircase and strained my ears but could only make out tone, not the words being spoken. Someone was very angry. I was pondering what I should do, when someone came clattering around the corner and down the stairs. It was Veronica. When she caught sight of me, she stopped short. Her countenance was not pleasant. She seemed to become angrier when she saw me, and brusquely shoving past, she continued down the stairs and, I assumed, out the door. I was having a second codfish moment, when I heard a soft voice.

"Don't mind her. She's unhappy with me."

It was Michael. He casually came down the steps until we were practically level with one another. I had not seen him for quite some time. He was tan from the sun, and his black hair was in need of cutting. The wavy locks made him look younger.

"Why is Veronica unhappy with you?" I asked.

He smiled. "I volunteered her services. Allison will be giving birth soon, and she needs help managing the shop. She can't afford to have it closed even for a couple of days. Since I should be around for a couple of weeks, I agreed to help. I also promised that Veronica would help, too."

"Ah!" I said. "Michael, I would be glad to help out. I have had lots of experience in running a shop."

"That is very thoughtful of you Constance, but it's unnecessary. Now, if you will excuse me, I better make sure she hasn't gotten lost in the woods." He whistled _Happy Birthday_ as he left.

I was disappointed to discover that Elliott had already left when I came back downstairs. Everyone else had gone except for Honey, who was busy putting away leftovers in the kitchen.

"The Haskells just left. They're so nice. I've seen them around town but have never really had a chance to talk with them until tonight. Toby took Allison home. Poor Allison is miserable. I think her doctor must have her due date wrong. I don't know how she is going to manage raising the baby, and run the business all on her own," she said as she poured the dregs of apple cider down the sink.

"Michael just told me that he and Veronica are going to help her. I offered, but apparently they have it all covered," I shared.

Honey raised one immaculately groomed eyebrow.

"I really can't see Veronica, or Michael for that matter, behind a counter selling flowers. That is great if they are – I wish I could do more for Allison. I'm hoping to babysit some nights to give her a break – I just love babies!" she finished with a dreamy look on her face.

After Honey left, I locked up the garage and the cottage. Turning off all the lights, and making sure the fireplace screen was in place, I snuggled up on a couch with Cadbury and the new throw. I watched the dying embers flicker and fade while listening to the muted purrs of the kitten until I fell fast asleep.

Now that the weather was cooler, it was time for me to do some much-needed shopping for more appropriate clothing. I waited a couple of days for Cadbury to become acclimated with me and my routine. Being a fast learner and being of such a large size, he easily conquered the stairs and slept with me at night. He enjoyed napping and sunning on the rosewood desk and was a pro in using the new cat door. The day I went to Collinsport, I filled up his cat dish to the brim, and left several bowls of water for him. He yawned and curled himself into a soft brown ball and didn't appear worried that I would be gone most of the day.

The drive was uneventful, and I had a blissful day of shopping. I ticked off my list several pairs of wellies, a full- length goose down parka in a shocking red, a silk lined black wool dress coat, a wool navy peacoat, hats, gloves, scarves, thick socks, tights and jumpers in a variety of colors and patterns, flannel lined jeans, silk long johns, wool skirts and trousers, dressy knee-high boots in brown and black…the Mini Cooper could only hold so much. I decided to drop by the car dealership. Fortunately for me, someone had traded in an ancient pea green Range Rover, with just a hint of rust, which I bought on the spot. It would be perfect for the winter months. I was pleasantly surprised at the low miles and great condition of the vehicle. It had apparently been cocooned for a long time in someone's pole barn. The salesman agreed to have it dropped off at The Cottage the next day.

After that purchase, I swung by the inn and was able to catch an early dinner with everyone. I was starving. I had tried a new restaurant for lunch and it had not turned out well. Mrs. Fillmore had made a mouth-watering pot roast loaded with root vegetables, including parsnips and turnips, hot, buttery rolls and a pear ginger crumble for a sweet. Guy was pleased that the peonies were doing well, Valerie asked after Cadbury, and Mrs. Fillmore gave me several jars of apple butter she had just put up that morning. While we were chatting in the kitchen, Honey telephoned to announce that Allison had gone into labor. Michael had taken her to the hospital, and he would call later with updates. The discussion quickly turned into stories of other births, and while I sipped my cuppa, an image of tiny headstones in the cemetery came to my mind. I shuddered and cast the thought aside.

Later, I was standing at the door of my car, debating on whether or not I could squeeze in more packages, when I heard Elliott hallooing at me. The slight breeze ruffled his hair and it took everything on my part not to reach out and smooth it down with my hand.

"Constance! How are you? How's the cat? Destroyed the place yet?" he inquired.

I answered all of his questions and asked if he had heard about Allison.

"Yes, Toby called me. It's a shame Bobby is not here. It's still hard to believe that he's gone. Before I forget, when are you available for Ax Wielding 101 and How to Shoot a Gun Without Shooting Your Foot?" he said grinning.

I grinned back.

"I'm free anytime this weekend. I suppose I should buy an ax – what should I do about a gun? Isn't there a waiting period?" I asked.

"You can shoot with mine. I own several. I'm pretty sure there are guns kept at Collinwood and The Old House, so you could always get one from there. I'll check with Randall when I get back to the office and let you know. Well, I don't want to keep you – Good Night, Constance."

"Good Night, Elliott."

I melted into my car, and headed home.

(This writing has nothing to do with Dan Curtis or Dan Curtis Productions. This is just the vivid imagination of a small town girl.)


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Rain had been falling for hours. I wanted to join Cadbury, who was gently snoring by the fire, but I answered Duty's call and cleaned the cottage instead. Not only did I hoover and dust, but I did all the laundry, including most of my new purchases, plus mending and ironing. I deserved a break. While the kettle heated up, I ransacked the pantry. Crisp, chocolate biscuits, a ripe, juicy pear, and a junk of aged cheddar were soon arranged prettily on a Spode English Willow plate. It sometimes startled me that I used real silver, crystal and china on an everyday basis just like the generations of Collins' before me. The kettle was soon singing its siren song, and I poured the boiling water over the loose-leaf Earl Grey tea. The scent of Bergamot filled the kitchen. While the tea steeped, I threw another log on the fire, and a sticky handful of resinous pine cones. The smell was divine. Cadbury swished his bushy tail at the noise of the poker pushing at the logs, but his eyes remained closed.

Soon I was settled on the couch, sipping the hot tea and delicately munching on my dainties while I flipped through a fashion magazine. Soon, a large paw was placed on my hand. I ignored it. Then I felt the tiny pinpricks of sharp claws entering my flesh. This was my cue to hand over some food – now. I broke off a tiny morsel of cheese and offered it. A loud purr and the rasp of a rough tongue on the back of my hand was my reward for the treat, which the kitten gingerly took from my fingers. He wanted some of my pear, too. Good thing I had eaten the biscuits first. After tea, Cadbury returned to his nap, and I finished putting away all the clean clothes. Wiping down the kitchen, I realized that instead of feeling tired after all my labors, I was rather restless. The rain had tapered off, so I decided to freshen up and go to town to finish up my shopping. The squishy weather was perfect for my wellies, slim dark jeans, a buffalo checked flannel shirt in white and black and a jean jacket. I made a mental note to purchase a sturdier rain coat of some sort. Living on the coast was milder in the winter, but there was also more rainfall.

Honey called while I was coming down the stairs. Allison finally had the baby after a long, arduous labor and delivery early that morning. Mother and child were doing well, but Allison requested no visitors at the present time; she was worn out and needed rest. I could hear the disappointment in Honey's voice. We hung up. I grabbed my keys, checked on the fire and kissed the top of Cadbury's head before heading out the door. I was very grateful to Elliott for Cadbury. Cadbury was my friend, flatmate and companion rolled into one. He was my pet, and my child. It was so wonderful not to be totally alone. I remembered the days in London when sometimes coming home to an empty flat would be rather depressing. True, sometimes I now came home to find a decapitated woodland creature on my front step, but as long as it didn't show up inside the cottage, I could deal with it. I was amazed at the depth of love I felt for this not so little kitten. I couldn't imagine my life without him.

I jumped and side stepped the larger puddles on the way to the garage. Punching in the code, I climbed into the Range Rover and backed out into the squelching mud. When the ground froze, it wouldn't be so bad. I was hoping to avoid having to put in a driveway. The Range Rover handled great, but I was still unused to driving a much larger vehicle. I found myself going slower instead of my customary quick zip with the Mini Cooper. The sky was a dull, dirty white which hid every hint that sunshine actually existed. I still felt invigorated due to the chilly weather and hummed along with the radio as I made the turn into Brewster's parking lot. Soon, my oversized cart was filled with goose down comforters, snow flake themed flannel sheets, flannel jammies and bathrobes, soft shearling lined slippers and a sturdy hooded waterproof raincoat the color of beech bark. Then I stopped at the hardware store. It was one of those very old wooden structures that still kept bulk nails and screws in barrels that probably dated from the Civil War. I wandered up and down the narrow aisles, stocking up on useful tools that would come in handy as a home owner, including a rake and snow shovel. My final purchase was a sturdy axe for woodchopping. My lessons with Elliott had to be delayed since he was currently in Rockport gathering information for a new case the firm was handling. Randall had okayed my obtaining a firearm from Collinwood and had also reminded me to pick up the keys to all the locked bedrooms as well. I had been so busy, that I kept forgetting to get them at my weekly meetings. I was curious, but also not keen about going back unless someone was with me.

After piling my last acquisitions into the boot of the car, I decided to stop by the library and pick up some fresh reading material. I had been guilty of not making time for any research, but now was not the time to begin. Something fictional was all I wanted this evening. I was pleased to see Toby leaning against the circulation desk in sweet conversation with Honey. The library was practically deserted this time of day and closing was still at least another hour. I cleared my throat, and the startled lovers quickly drew apart. Toby grinned sheepishly, as Honey asked if she could help me in her most professional voice.

"I'm in need of something not too heavy, but something I have never read before. I enjoyed _Rascal_ immensely," I said.

Honey thought for a moment and then responded.

"Nothing too heavy…how about Lousia May Alcott? It may seem juvenile, but her books are well written, and I think you will enjoy them. She is my favorite author and the inspiration for my becoming a librarian; I am such a bookworm! When I was in elementary school, there was a full set of Alcott's novels bound in dark, blue leather in the library. The school librarian, Mrs. Peebles, recommended them to me, and I enjoyed them so much, I knew right then that I wanted to be like her - encouraging others to read. Let me pull a copy of _Little Women_ for you."

I thanked her and then Toby spoke up.

"Constance, it is most fortuitous that you are here. I have been thinking much about the structure for The Old House, and when you have the time, would like to go back over with you so I may put some points to rest."

I thought for a moment and then replied.

"How about right now? There's plenty of daylight left. Afterwards, if you two don't have any plans, how about dinner at The Blue Whale? My treat."

"Free food?" said Honey as she walked over and handed me the book. "Count me in!"

Toby gave her a peck on the cheek, and we headed out.

The rain had completely stopped while we had been inside the library. As we went over the spot where the proposed addition would be built, Toby moaned that his shoes were soaked through and through. I was glad I had worn my wellies. By the time he was satisfied that the location was in fact the best possible choice, the sky had darkened considerably, but the moon was shining like liquid silver and we easily made our way back to the car. We were passing Widow's Hill, when Toby asked me to slow down.

"That's strange! I could swear that that is Allison's vehicle parked behind those bushes. Would you mind terribly going back? I can't imagine that it is hers, but…" he said.

"Not at all," I replied, as I deftly made a U-turn and pulled off the road to where he pointed.

Parking behind the car, Toby was convinced it was Allison's. Going over, we saw that there was an infant car seat latched in the back. Both of us were alarmed. Why would Allison be at Widow's Hill with her brand-new baby? Toby started for the edge of the cliff, and I ran after him.

"Toby…surely you don't think…" I called the words out, afraid to finish my thought.

"We don't know her state of mind, Constance. She may be completely overwhelmed," he panted, as he peered over the side.

The moon was still shining brightly, but though we strained our eyes, nothing came to sight. As we hurried back to the car, the wind picked up, and with it came the thin cry of a baby! We stopped abruptly and looked at each other. The cry sounded again, but now seemed further away. Running towards it, our feet were silent over the sodden dead leaves and withered grasses. Soon our path became more difficult as clouds began to obscure the moon. My mind was racing, keeping time with our pace and I wondered if it had occurred to Toby what could possibly be our destination…

As soon as I came to this conclusion the slim birches came into view. I put a cautionary arm out to Toby. He bent over with his hands on his thighs, clearly out of breath. I squinted and realized that someone or something was moving in the circle. Leaving Toby, I cautiously moved closer and peered from behind an ancient oak.

Allison, clothed in white and seemingly like a birch tree herself, was bent over something laying on the ground. I saw a glint of something metallic and then a tiny wail rent the night air. I almost jumped out my skin when at that moment Toby touched me on the shoulder. Together we crouched by the tree trying to make sense of what we were seeing. Allison straightened and turned from the still crying infant and went from tree to tree in the grove, doing what, we could not tell. Seconds passed, and then she picked up the baby and passing through the trees they headed to the rocky beach further on.

Quickly, but stealthily, I entered the circle. Perhaps it was masked by my own mounting fear, but no oppressive presence could be sensed, as I felt at the base of each tree. My mind and body recoiled as my hands touched a slippery substance and stepping back my foot caught on something that caused me to fall heavily to the ground. It was a small earthenware vessel. Suddenly, I had a terrible stroke of realization of what was occurring that nearly had me retching.

"What is it? What is it?" Toby frantically whispered.

"Toby! Toby! Go back to the car. Get the axe from the boot – from the trunk of the car and cut down these trees!" I replied, as I extracted myself from that circle of abomination.

"Constance…" he began –

"Cut down the trees! Every, single one of them! I can't do it - I've got to find Allison!" I said as I began running towards the sounds of the surf.

Silently I prayed that Toby would do as I asked, and that I would be able to stop Allison from whatever other horror she had planned. I came to the boulders and scanned all around for a sign of the others. The moonbeams were still fitful, and how I longed for a flashlight. Where were they? How was it possible for her to scramble over these massive rocks with a baby in her arms? If only the baby would cry again! I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I carefully looked again around me. Was that a lighter shadow to the right? I made my way to the looming crag – yes! There was a thin opening that now appeared to my searching eyes. I would never have noticed it, even in daylight. Feeling along the damp sides, I was surprised that the passageway became wider and even more surprised when I almost tumbled down steps that had been cut deep into the rock. My footfalls were muted by the fine sand that lay deep upon each step. I realized with a jolt that I could definitely now see more clearly. Firelight played along the walls but I was still unsure of where these steps were leading. The sound and heat of a large fire became apparent. And what was that smell mingled with the woodsmoke? I stopped and breathed deeply. It was thick and cloying, as of too many fragrances competing with one another; sweet, yet with the unmistakable scent of decay which could not be covered up.

The steps ended and I carefully looked around the wall. What I saw was incomprehensible. It was a cave - natural or man-made, I could not tell – but it definitely had been used for centuries. The ceiling was shrouded in shadow, but the walls had been painted originally, perhaps in white, which had mellowed to an ivory patina. Running along the circumference, at least ten feet from the floor were painted a series of cameos. These were at least three feet tall and were of a mixed variety. Some were crudely painted and others were done by gifted artists. Many of the colors and cameos had faded over time, but some were still bright – perhaps they were not as old. I easily recognized some classical representations I was familiar with: Isis with her falcon headed son Horus, Aphrodite and Eros, Hera and Ares the God of War, Violence and Destruction, Hathor, Kali – but many were unknown to me. How many civilizations were represented from all around the globe? How many were so ancient that their names have been forgotten by the majority of mankind? Some were incredibly beautiful, but others were grotesque and monstrous; some not even human– but they all had one thing in common – it was a mother cult.

The overwhelming scent came from dozens and dozens of lilies, roses, lilacs, peonies, and orchids in every hue that were piled in heaps and heaps upon ledges which also ran along the room. Bowls which I assumed held incense filled the air with cinnamon, sandalwood, vanilla, lavender, mint, and countless others – it was bewildering and my senses were overloaded. Where room could be found, there were white candles which blazed like stars while the smoke from the incense and the smoke from the very large fire in the middle of the floor mixed and mingled and rose upward into the darkness.

Yes, a fire raged from where I stood almost the entire width of the cave. The flames were unnaturally high, and in the middle of those flames I thought I discerned a shape moving restlessly…my mind could not process what I was seeing. How had Allison accomplished all of this? She had just given birth perhaps twelve hours earlier. What superhuman strength had she appropriated for such a display? What was this place? Why was she here? For that matter, _where_ was she? I crept further out from the shelter of the wall and again my steps were silent because of the sand and the roar of the fire. I could see Allison who had her back to me. She was kneeling at a small, black altar with her hands raised. The baby lay bundled on the altar.

(This writing has nothing to do with Dan Curtis or Dan Curtis Productions. This is just the vivid imagination of a small town girl.)


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

"Allison!" I shouted.

She sprang to her feet and whirled around to face me. She looked bewildered.

The acoustics were incredible. Even over the crackle of the fire her words carried over as if we were standing face to face.

"What are you doing here? How did you find this place? Are you alone?" she rapidly fired off the questions in her childish voice.

I only hesitated for a second –

"Yes, I'm alone. I saw your car at Widow's Hill and followed your footprints in the mud – what is this place? Are you all right?" I asked quickly, hoping to keep her off balance.

Her laugh rang eerily throughout the cave. The thing in the fire lurched and lumbered in the flames.

"I'm more than all right. I've been waiting so long for this night…" she was interrupted by a low cry from the baby.

I began talking like I had heard nothing.

"I – I've read about places like this in books. Never thought I would see one in real life. How long have you been coming here? It's so – so beautiful," I finished with as much awe in my voice as I could muster. Whatever was going on, I was in a dangerous position. My mind was speedily jumping through hoops to find a solution that would hopefully save the lives of all three of us.

"You can't stop me, Constance. You _won't_ stop me. Soon, I will have so much! My parents tried to stop me. Bobby tried to stop me. And where are they now?" she sneered.

My heart nearly stopped as I pondered her meaning. "What do you mean?" I asked.

Her eyes flickered around the cavern.

"I discovered this place when I was a teenager. It had been abandoned, forsaken, and I, for a lack of a better word, restored it. So much knowledge is accessible nowadays. I may not have enjoyed school, but I certainly enjoyed learning about how to make all of my dreams come true. I told you before how I hated being poor. My parents were going to sell the shop. _My_ shop. What should have been my inheritance when they died…" her voice trailed off.

I had to keep her talking. I hoped that Toby would soon finish with the trees and find the cave.

"What did you do, Allison?"

She shrugged her thin shoulders and brushed her pale fringe with her fingers. She looked tired, with dark circles under her eyes. The baby was quiet and motionless. Was he still alive?

Allison noticed that I had glanced at the altar.

"Don't worry. He's not dead. I'm a good mother. But what did you ask me? What did I do? I planted a grove of birch trees. Did you notice them, Constance? A perfect circle. I then purposefully crashed the car and watered those trees with my parent's blood. There's always a price, _Rich Girl_ , there's always a price. But I was willing to pay. That was only the beginning. I waited until Bobby was out running when I found him and told him the news of my pregnancy. He was so surprised. Even more surprised when I pushed him off the cliff. He didn't even have time to scream. That was trickier getting his blood, but I managed it. Just as I managed to offer some of my newborn son's blood…wouldn't have been worth anything if it had been a girl…"

My throat constricted. I was revolted by the calmness of that high pitch voice that could so dispassionately talk of such things.

"In a few moments I will pass him to Molech, and, in exchange, I will receive such power – nothing will be denied me again. People won't look down at me or feel sorry for me; I will be successful in my business, and I will have so much money! Maybe not as much money as _you_ , Constance, but that won't matter. You'll be dead!"

As she spat the words from her lips, something shot from her hand. Searing pain filled my consciousness – and I looked over in horror at the silver handled knife that now stuck out from my left shoulder. I slowly crumbled to the soft, sandy floor of the cave. What was happening? I couldn't move. It didn't make sense…

Allison was chanting a harsh, unknown language in her little girl voice, and the once silent baby was now wailing. Tears trickled from my eyes as I lay there unable to move. Molech, or whatever it was in the fire, seemed to grow even larger and move even faster than before. It was in a frenzy striding back and forth, back and forth. How much time was left? Where was Toby? I wondered if I would die. I thought about Cadbury and Elliott. I felt a pang too at the thought of leaving so much unfinished at Collinwood. Now, I would never know who my parents were.

Suddenly, Allison began shrieking; her voice going even higher and higher.

"What's wrong? What's happening? No! No! Don't leave me! Come back! Come back!" she screamed and gnashed her teeth as the shape in the fire began dissolving and the fire shrank to a normal size.

Allison tore at her hair and clawed her face as she screamed and cursed. I watched in terror as she grabbed the baby from the altar and held it high over her head; her visage twisted with such fear and desperation that I have never seen before or since on another person's face. Blood flowed freely from the gouges she had made in her own flesh. It was a horrible sight. Before she could pitch her son into the fire, it unnaturally vanished. Allison once more began to scream and curse.

"No! No! Forgive me! You promised me! You promised me!" she shouted into the encroaching darkness.

A low rumble filled the space; almost like an otherworldly voice in response. I could feel the vibrations beneath me and winced as a small shower of loosened debris from the ceiling fell, pinging me in the process. The noise and movement quickly stopped, but before I could assess what might happen next, large cracks began to appear in the cameos and chunks of the portraits began to fall heavily, crushing the flowers and incense bowls in their wake. I felt more cracks opening in the floor beneath me and became rather alarmed. My last sight of Allison and her son was as a large portion of the ceiling descended upon them both, crushing them to the ground. The candles went out and I was left in darkness. I knew I had no choice but to move. I could possibly die from the wound caused by the knife, but I most certainly would die if I continued to lay there. A new sound entered the cacophony of cracking and falling rock. It was the sea. It roared and deafened me as I struggled and willed my unresponsive body to move back to the craggy staircase. It would not obey me. I began pondering if I would drown or be crushed by falling rocks when I felt someone grab me – it was Toby. He had the foresight to grab a flashlight from the boot of the Range Rover when he went to collect the axe and its welcome glow shining full in my face nearly blinded me. His face paled as he saw the hilt of the knife in my shoulder

"Constance! Where's Allison? Where's the baby?" he yelled in my ear.

I could not answer.

Toby half carried me, half dragged me back to the car. He had to leave behind the axe and the flashlight as I could not move a muscle. The going was slow. A storm was raging and we were both soaking wet by the time we reached the Range Rover. Toby recklessly drove to the Collinsport hospital. I was amazed I hadn't gone into shock. Toby concocted some story for the emergency room attendants about a stranger being at Widow's Hill who attacked me and then ran off through the woods. Honey, who met us at the hospital, was naturally upset. While I was being attended to, I was relieved to discover that I was regaining the ability to move again. My vitals were strong and the doctor pronounced that the knife wound had not caused serious damage, but it would take some time to heal properly. He was puzzled at my initial paralysis and surmised that there must have been some sort of toxin on the blade. Fortunately, it must not have been too potent, but he was firm in his decision that I be kept overnight for observation. He also ordered a slew of blood work which would be immediately sent to Bangor for analysis.

Since I was apparently going to live, at least for the moment, Honey went off to visit Allison and her baby. Toby and I looked at each other. I frowned and shook my head at Toby. It was still difficult for me to speak; a raspy grunt was all I could manage. He knew what I was asking, though – Don't say anything to anyone! Not even Honey!

The police arrived and questioned Toby and I – I grunted and held up fingers to answer simple yes and no questions. We didn't say a word about seeing Allison's car. While the junior officer finished writing up the report, Honey returned to inform us that Allison and the baby had left the hospital hours earlier.

"I can't imagine why she would have left so soon! She should have stayed at least a couple of more days. I've called the shop, but the phone just rings and rings," said Honey in a worried voice.

Toby suggested they drive by the shop before going to my place to check on Cadbury. They promised to return in the morning with a fresh change of clothes for me. After they left, a very jovial nurse gave me a bath and I fell fast asleep.

The rain was still falling when I woke the next day. I had slept nearly twelve hours. There was a note by the bed that Toby had stopped by that morning with the clean clothes, but since I was still asleep, he would give me a call later. There were also a multitude of flowers and cards. News travels fast in a small town. The doctor who attended me the night before then came in and told me that the bloodwork was inconclusive. There would be further research, but since I seemed to have recovered the full use of all my necessary functions, I would be discharged in a couple of hours. I thanked him in a much stronger, raspy voice.

I called Toby and he told me that he would pick me up from the hospital and take me home. On the drive back to The Cottage he shared that Honey was deeply concerned that Allison was not at the shop when they stopped by the previous evening. Her car was not there either. Honey had returned that morning before she went to work, but Veronica swore that she had not seen Allison at anytime the day before. She reluctantly allowed Honey to check upstairs. All was neat and clean throughout the small rooms, but Honey received a terrible shock when she entered what she assumed was the nursery. It had been painted floor to ceiling in jet, black paint. And the only thing in it was the large, plush moose that I had bought. Honey called the police.

The police found Allison's car pretty quickly. Collinsport is a small village. Thanks to the heavy rainfall, whatever clues there may have been were washed away. They searched all over Widow's Hill and along the beaches and boulders below but found no sign of the new mother and her infant son. They weren't sure what to make of the birch trees they discovered hacked down further in the woods. And they never discovered the secret cave. No one ever will because it is gone. I myself went there once the excitement of the missing individuals died down. The ocean had completely destroyed it. Even the steps have been sheared off from the rest of the craggy rock. Perhaps the sea will give up Allison and her son. Perhaps they will lie forever pinned beneath the rocks. We will see.

Once my wound had healed sufficiently, Toby and I had a long discussion at The Cottage. I made a Chocolate Biscuit Cake which Toby enjoyed very much. So does the Queen. We were seated on opposite couches, in front of the fireplace. Cadbury was seated by Toby, in secret hopes that perhaps a crumb would fall. I told Toby all about the cave and what transpired there.

"I think it had been there easily since the 1600's. At least since whenever people starting arriving here from Europe. Who knows who started it. I think Allison took it one or two steps beyond that – it was a mixture of mother cult, Molech worship, sacred groves - which could come from so many ancient sources – it was certainly a hodge-podge of occult practices and idol worship," I said, as I sliced another generous portion of the sweet for Toby and myself. The silver coffee pot was still half full. Cadbury tried to stick his paw in the cream pitcher, but I gently swatted it away.

"That was intelligent of you to have me chop down those trees. It took days for the blisters to heal. I am not used to such hard labor," Toby said as he poured himself more coffee.

"I had no idea when I asked you to do that…that it was – how could I possibly know the connection of what Allison was involved in…I'm just glad that destroying those birches was successful in driving away that – that _thing_ in the cave, Toby."

I put down my fork and gazed into the fire.

"I'm so sorry about your friend, Toby. I can't imagine what you and the others are going through. You've known Allison your whole life…I choked on the words and blew my nose.

Toby harrumphed.

"I suppose it is true that you can know someone your whole life, and possibly not really know them. I had no idea about this secret life that apparently Allison lived. No idea! I know Elliott and Michael are troubled about her disappearance. I've heard that Hannah is very, very upset. Constance, only you and I know what really happened. Only you and I know that she is dead. Will we ever…" he started to say.

"No! We can't Toby! What would people think if they knew the truth?"

"Honey wouldn't tell…" he tried again.

"No, Toby! I'm sorry, but it's best if this stays just between you and I – I'm sure you would not want Honey burdened with any of this. I know it's a terrible, horrible secret to have but, but…why should people know how disturbed Allison was? Who benefits from that knowledge? They're all dead. It won't change anything…," I clenched my hands, twisting the linen napkin between them.

"Constance, Constance, I won't. I promise," Toby sighed.

I told Toby about the tiny headstones in the cemetery, of the terra cotta shard I discovered the first time I entered the grove. They were all connected somehow with what went on in the cave. We inspected the silver knife that Allison had thrown at me. It was very old, but there were no apparent markings on it. Toby confiscated it so he could have it as a point of reference while he did research at the museum.

After he left, I felt so drained. I don't know why.

Weeks passed. I kept myself busy with meetings and plans. The stables were restored and fully functional at Collinwood and The Old House. I began researching horse breeds but decided to hold off actually purchasing a horse until the spring. The chapel was also now fully restored, and I found myself drawn there more and more. Many hours I spent in meditation and tears as I thought about what had transpired in September. I didn't sleep well. I found myself easily distracted and the tiniest upsets distressed me. October drifted into November, and I bought a new axe. I learned to shoot and chop wood though my shoulder still tightened up at times. My love for Elliott still caused me much turmoil, but I managed to be friendly and cheerful when we were together. I was a natural with a gun, but my chopping skills were haphazard.

One day I was moving things around in the garage when I discovered the box of bulbs that Allison had given me for my birthday. I threw them away. I did not need a seasonal reminder of her. The police were still searching for her and her son. The good people of Collinsport wondered if the unknown person who attacked me attacked them. Did she commit suicide? Did she perhaps just leave for a fresh start somewhere else?

The flower shop had been emptied of all product and locked up. There had been no will. Mrs. Fillmore told me that if it went up in a sheriff's auction, that Guy and Valerie would put in a bid.

I spent Thanksgiving at the inn, and thanked God for all the amazing changes that had come into my life that year. And for continued help in overcoming what had happened in the cave. I was still struggling. Fortunately, it did not impede my appetite and I tucked into succulent roast turkey with savory onion and celery stuffing, creamy mashed potatoes with hot, giblet gravy, turnips, squash, creamed onions and freshly baked rolls. I had made the pies; pumpkin and apple. From scratch. My crust was not perfect, but it tasted just fine.

Christmas is one of my most favorite times of the year. Collinsport was beautiful with its abundance of cheery lights and garlands of pine decorated with shiny ribbons and bows on almost every building. I hosted a giant, lavish Christmas party for all the employees of the cannery. I discovered that I do not like caviar. I gave handsome bonuses. I bought wonderful presents for all my friends stateside and across The Pond. I stuffed myself on mouth-watering prime rib, buttery scallops and sweet lobster at the inn on Christmas day. New Year's Eve I spent with Toby and Honey at The Blue Whale. Toby had proposed at Christmas. The diamond may have been small, but it twinkled brightly and so did their eyes. I whooped joyously and squeezed them both. Then Honey told me how Michael and Elliott had flown to Paris to connect with Hannah for the holidays. The night felt flat after that.

That feeling continued throughout January and February. As the investigation continued to prove fruitless, the disappearance of Allison and the baby became less of a priority. Until new evidence was found, it was more or less a cold case. Some people began to wonder if it had anything to do with the disappearance of the Collins family years before. Only Toby and I knew that the two were completely unrelated. I envied Toby's peace of mind. He had not had to witness what I did. I felt ashamed for thinking that way.

Then Miss Jacky reminded me during our latest chat that the date had passed for when I was supposed to fly to Alexandria to join Mr. Simmons for the dig. Another good reason to feel sorry for myself! Collinsport was having unprecedented snowfalls, and it wasn't unusual to be stuck indoors for days at a time. Even Cadbury didn't enjoy flouncing through the deep drifts anymore. Elliott had taken me sledding and snow shoeing when he had returned from Paris, but that was weeks ago and he had been busy with a case in Bangor ever since. I groused in my mind the unfairness of being stuck in snow when I could have been in a hot climate searching for buried tombs…it's never a good idea to wallow in self-pity.

So, the next day I strapped on my snow shoes and headed over to the chapel at The Old House. The sun was shining brightly and I was glad I wore my sunglasses, for the snow dazzled my eyes. The green of the firs and the pines were beautiful against the backdrop of the blue sky. I breathed deeply of the cold, resin-filled air. Cadbury decided to join me and raced ahead in hopes of catching an unsuspecting chipmunk. The sun caught the ginger highlights in his fur. The temperature was brisk and my breath made billows of "smoke" in the air. When I arrived at the chapel, I unlocked the padlock and settled down on one of the ornate benches. I was glad I was well clothed in my winter layers. It was frigid in the stone building. The old stained-glass windows were ablaze with sunshine and the sight made me smile. Cadbury popped his head in, but then darted back outside. He was on the prowl. I closed my eyes and began to pray. I thought of King David and how he expressed himself through the Psalms. He held nothing back. I chose to do the same.

When I left a half hour later, I truly felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I actually hummed and even attempted some whistling as I made my way back home. Cadbury bounded through the snow ahead of me and dove through his cat door. I pounded my feet to remove most of the snow before entering the kitchen. After I had taken off my warm wrappings, I filled the kettle and thought about what to make for dinner. A noise at the front door caught my attention. I went and opened the door but no one was there. But there was a package. I had a post office box in the village, wanting to spare the postal service from having to come to the estate. I heard the sound of an engine starting in the direction of the main driveway. Special delivery, perhaps. I easily picked up the package. It was long and thin. The postmark was from an island I was not familiar with in the Caribbean. My name and address were clearly written on the brown paper, but no return address.

Eagerly I opened the box and pulled out an elegant looking cane crowned with a silver wolf's head. Tied to it by a silver cord, was a man's ring featuring a large onyx stone. There was also a note. I opened it and read these words:

He's Alive.

THE END

(This writing has nothing to do with Dan Curtis or Dan Curtis Productions. This is just the vivid imagination of a small town girl.)


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